Wayward Child
by chillywinterbreeze
Summary: Alice Holmes is sixteen and has been a foster kid for most of her life. After discovering that her birth mother is dead, she goes looking for her father. She's met with a hunter who has no idea what to do with children.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, the Winchesters or Bobby. Just Alice and Tricia. They're mine.**

**Hi guys. Just a quick note before I start. This is one of my first fics with an OC, so please be kind to us. I really love reviews, especially if you feel that there's something I should be writing differently. If you dislike Mary Sue's, you're in luck because I do too and have absolutely no intention of making Alice one. Sorry for the somewhat cliche title, but I couldn't think of anything else.**

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><p>Alice tossed her backpack over her shoulder and turned to her sister. She and Tricia had grown up together in foster care and then later on the streets. Here they were, possibly the last time they'd see each other for awhile. Tricia brushed away her tears and zipped up Alice's hoodie. This was important to Alice, even if it was hard for them both.<p>

"Remember, if it doesn't work out, you always have a home here," she whispered, pulling Alice in for an teary hug. By now, both girls were crying openly and people were starting to stare, "Call me when you meet him, okay?"

Alice nodded and wiped at her eyes, "You'll call if you ever need me, right? Even if it goes well, you're still my sister and I love you," she saw Tricia stiffen a little, "You come first, even before him."

The bus driver gave the boarding call and Alice picked up her instrument case and got on. Looking out the window, she saw her sister collapse onto a bench in tears. She looked away, knowing that Tricia would pound her face in if she backed out now. They'd worked for months to track down her father, and they'd at least found a place in South Dakota where he had friends.

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><p><strong>Alice's POV<strong>

I rode on the bus for almost five hours before it finally slowed to a stop in Sioux Falls. According the map I had stuffed in my pocket, Robert Singer lived at a junkyard a few miles outside of town. I didn't enough money for a cab fare, and I was too paranoid to hitch. Normally the walk wouldn't have bothered me, but I was exhausted and hungry. Oh well, no point in complaining.

When I finally made it to the junkyard that supposedly belonged to Robert Singer, the moon was already high in the sky. A gruff man of about fifty appeared behind me with a shotgun. _Reassuring, _I thought, _my dad's buddies with this paranoid freak._

"Put the bags on the ground and tell me who you are," he demanded. I did what he asked without hesitation and stuck my hands in the air by my face.

"Are you Robert Singer?"

"Depends who's asking," he retorted.

Sighing, I launched into an explanation, "My name is Alice Rosalynne Holmes. Apparently, you know my father and I'm trying to track him down. Can you help me?" he looked shocked, but he lowered his gun.

"How did you get here?" he asked. After he was satisfied with the Q&A, he took my backpack and tried to grab my instrument case, but I took it back, "I'd like to carry that myself," he raised an eyebrow, but didn't object.

Once we were inside, he set set a steaming bowl of chili and a glass of milk on the table and practically ordered me to eat. Apparently, I looked skinny, which made sense considering my habit of handing over my meals to the pregnant girl who slept across from me. When I finished, he showed me the bathroom and told me to take as long as I liked in the shower.

If you've ever gone a long time without washing your hair, you know how fantastic it feels to finally get it clean. After going two months without having a hot meal and an actual hot shower, I felt like I was in Heaven. Robert Singer seemed like a good guy. He seemed a little paranoid, and like he was hiding something from me, but I wasn't getting the feeling that he was interested in doing anything bad to me. That was something.

When I got out of the shower and changed into a relatively clean purple shirt and jeans, I was surprised at my reflection. The girl standing in the mirror was a lot prettier than she'd been before. Her skin, though pale, was clear, aside from a few scars and bruises here and there. Her hair, my hair, was the same as it's always been, dark and long, but now that I was wearing it down and it was actually clean, the colour was vibrant and beautiful. _Damn, _I thought, _I clean up good._

I pulled on my boots and headed down the hallway. Robert Singer was facing away from me, staring out the window. Hesitantly, I half whispered, "Mr. Singer?"

He chuckled and turned to face me with a warm smile, "Just Bobby if you don't mind, Alice," he handed me a glass of water, "If you're that skinny, you're probably dehydrated too. Although, if you don't mind me saying, you're a very pretty young lady."

I took the glass and smiled, "Thank you. You're probably the nicest man I've met in a long time, if you don't mind me saying," I added in afterthought. He chuckled again and muttered something about being seriously afraid of the other men I'd met.

After a few minutes of small talk, we started on the heavier topic of my father. I told him that I'd grown up in foster homes and finally gotten my birth certificate when I'd run away from my last home and stolen everything with my name on it. Then I'd worked on tracking my father down for about six months before finding out that he was connected to Bobby. This morning I'd gotten on a bus bound for Sioux Falls.

"So you wanna tell me your daddy's name? If I do know him, maybe I can help you find him," I fished my birth certificate out of my bag and slid it over to him. He visibly paled when he read the name attached.

"I saw news reports of him," I said, voice low, "They were all saying he was dead or worse, but since there were three saying he had died, I thought it smelled like rat."

Bobby shook his head and grinned, "You were right. He's still alive and kicking," he didn't mention him being innocent of the crimes he'd been accused and that worried me. Glancing over, he reassured me, "Don't worry, kiddo. He didn't do what they said he did either."

That was a weight off my chest. It didn't seem to me like Bobby was telling me the whole truth, though. He was hiding something. I had already figured out that he was at least a little obsessed with mythology from all the books he had lying around, but it felt like there was something more to it.

"You'll find out everything you need to know in time, Squirt," he assured me. Squirt? That was a new nickname. Weird, but not necessarily bad. Reading my face again, he chuckled and told me I looked like I needed a good bit of rest that we'd talk in the morning.

The spare room was like the rest of the house: dusty and cluttered with books and trinkets. But it had an actual bed which was, however dusty, at least somewhat clean. I wasn't going to be picky, though. I'd slept in places far worse than Bobby Singer's spare room in my short little lifetime. Kicking off my shoes, I settled on the bed, staring at the patterns on the ceiling. They were strange, with pentagons and scripts that looked older than time, but for some reason they made me feel safe.

_Bobby Singer, _I thought as I fell asleep, _What a character._

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><p><strong>AN: Me again. Sorry if Bobby's a little OOC in this, but I really wanted him to get protective of Alice for later. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter and to everyone who followed and favourited. I really appreciate it. I'm going to try writing from the perspective of every character except Tricia (sorry Trish) at least once, so let me know if you like it that way or if you like seeing just Alice's perspective on these. **

**Enjoy! :)**

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><p><strong>Bobby's POV<strong>

When that girl showed up on my doorstep, I was surprised to say the least. Honestly, I thought she was a demon or something, but she walked straight through a Devil's Trap without even noticing it was there. Then she started talking about looking for her daddy with those big green eyes and I just couldn't say no to the kid.

She was skinny. I'm talking easy to see the bones in her arms skinny. And dirty too. I know a street kid when I see one, and if she lived in a house, I was a banana in disguise. So, I did the only thing I could think to do: I set her up with some food and a bed to sleep in. Once she was in bed, I gave the Winchesters a call.

Dean answered after three rings, "Hey, Bobby. What's up?"

"Hey, boy. Where are you guys?"

"Nevada workin' a case," Dean answered, but it sounded more like a question, "Why, what's going on?"

"I got something here and I need you two here for it," I explained. This was gonna be tough on them.

Dean gave a snort, "Bobby, we're kinda tied up, here. Maybe you should get somebody else on it."

"This ain't a hunt, ya idjit. I got somebody here to see ya, so finish up in Nevada and get your asses to Sioux Falls. Alright?" I snapped. Those boys have a knack for getting on my last nerve in the blink of an eye.

"Okay, Bobby. Sheesh, you're a little touchy today. Anyway, who is it?" Dean asked. He sounded concerned, probably because I don't really snap at 'em for no real reason often unless something's going on. So, I decided to tell him a little about Alice.

"A young lady named Alice Holmes. She'll be here when you two get around to comin' over here."

Based on the nervous silence on the other end of the line, Dean already had an idea of who Alice was in Sioux Falls looking for, but he answered anyway, "Alright, Bobby. Sam and I should be done here in a day or two, so we'll be there in three or four days. Give you a call if something happens?"

"Okay," I agreed, "Just be careful, ya idjits," there was a crash in the background followed by Dean cursing something about Sam messing up his car. _They'd be fine, _I reassured myself, _My boys are tougher than steel._

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><p><strong>Alice's POV<strong>

No matter how safe I feel in a room, I hate sleeping. Life is too interesting to waste your time asleep, and sleeping is dangerous. You can't defend yourself against the demons in your head while you sleep, and they just end up running rampant. That's what happened on the first night I slept at Bobby's house.

I was dreaming about the last house I'd lived in before running away at thirteen. The father, Mark, was an abusive drunk and, as I later found out, a child molester. This was the time he'd lost one of his credit cards. I was the nearest scapegoat.

_This isn't real. This isn't real. _I just kept repeating those words in my head while I felt the blows on my face, on my stomach. He picked me up and slammed me against the wall behind me so hard I felt my ribs crack. A knife appeared and a white hot pain seared my shoulder as I watched my own blood drip down my arm.

Someone was screaming. A girl. It was a girl. She couldn't have been more than six. Why was she just standing there? She needed to run. She needed to get help, or at least try. But nobody was going to come. Somebody was shouting my name. Mark was shaking me. He was going to kill me. Oh, God, he was going to kill me. I was going to die.

"Alice! Alice wake up! C'mon Girl, wake up!" I sat up, arms flailing to attack whoever was shaking me. Where was I? Who was this guy? "Easy, Girl. You were just having a nightmare. You're safe now. Nobody's gonna getcha."

That's right. I was at Bobby's house. We were waiting for my father to arrive so that I could meet him. It was just a dream. Nobody was going to hurt me here. _I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay,_ I tried to convince myself. But I couldn't stop the tears that started making their way down my face, and, before I knew it, I was curled up sobbing like a child.

Bobby didn't seem like he'd dealt with stuff like this often before I showed up, but he put a hand on my shoulder anyway. When he realized that I wasn't calming down, he pulled me into his arms and gently rocked us until I stopped crying. The whole time, he kept repeating that I was safe now and nothing was going to hurt me here. Never nobody, always nothing, like there was some inhuman danger out here that I wasn't aware of.

Eventually, I calmed down to the point where I could breathe again, but I didn't let him put me down. His scent was comforting and it'd been years since someone had held me after a nightmare. From what I understood of the world, I figured that it'd be years before it ever happened again. I must've fallen asleep, because when I opened my eyes, I was in bed again and Bobby had left.

Nothing scares me more than being left alone. It's cliché, I know, but I'm a sixteen-year-old kid with abandonment issues. Waking up is no exception. All my life, if I woke up alone, it meant that something had happened to Tricia or, for awhile, Amy. Amy was my sister in a couple of homes before I met Tricia, but she died in an accident. I swallowed the panic that had risen up in my throat and pulled on one of my t-shirts. Sticking a knife into my boot, I headed downstairs.

Bobby was cooking breakfast. When he saw me, he scooped some eggs and bacon onto a plate and set it in front of me, saying that I wouldn't be allowed to leave until I'd finished the plate. I didn't argue, scarfing down half the portion in a minute before slowing down. After setting down his own plate, he poured two glasses of orange juice and handed one to me.

"You need to get some nourishment in you, kid. And put on a little weight," he informed. If he hadn't been spot on, I'd have been offended. But, I had other things to talk about.

"Sorry about last night."

He glanced up in surprise, "What the hell do you got to be sorry about? You ain't the first kid I've had in this house, and that certainly wasn't the first time I've done something like that."

"Even still, you're already giving me a lot without having to rescue me from my own head," I really did feel bad about making him stay with me half the night.

"Like I said, this ain't the first time I've done something like that. Your daddy used to have bad dreams too. Must've been one hell of a nightmare, though," Bobby answered, shaking his head. My father had stayed here? I knew that they'd known each other, but I hadn't thought that Bobby had taken care of him as a child.

"It was," I said, responding to the last question he'd asked me, "I was back in an old home. The father was beating me up," I explained.

"Why?"

"He lost some money and accused me of stealing it. But I didn't steal anything. I'm no thief."

"I don't think you are," he said with a smile that made his eyes crinkle up. He believed me.

He believed me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: *Sigh* I don't own Supernatural, the Winchesters or Bobby Singer. Just Alice and Tricia. They're mine. **

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><p>Bobby and I talked for a couple hours and worked on getting to know each other a little. Then his phones started ringing and he had to go take care of that. He was so secretive about those damn phones. I hadn't made a huge deal about the strips of tape labeling them "FBI" or "Homeland Security", but that didn't mean I wasn't curious. Was it some kind of game he played, or was there something going on that I didn't understand?<p>

Anyway, he shooed me out of the room and I headed out and started looking for something to do on his junkyard lot. After a few minutes of searching, I found a rusted '65 Mustang that looked like it could use some attention and got to work. Bobby found me under the hood with a tool box a couple of hours later.

The first thing he commented on was my lack of clothing. It was hot and I was sticky, so at some point in the day I'd stripped down to a sports bra and shorts. Who could blame me? Then he finally seemed to noticed the grease streaks all over my hands and arms.

"You know what you're doing down there?" he asked tentatively.

"Yup," I grunted out, loosening a particularly stubborn bolt.

"How'd you learn?"

"I started working in a chop shop when I was fourteen to make a little extra cash for the rent. We used to have contests for the fastest mechanic," I explained. Then I realized what I'd just admitted to, "Don't worry though. I got out and now I'm on the straight-and-narrow."

"Did you ever win?" Bobby didn't seem to care that I'd learned how to fix a car doing something completely illegal. I was liking this old man more and more.

"Yup, twice. They bought me dinner."

I couldn't see him, but I was damn sure he was grinning at something. When I asked him about it, he simply replied, "You're just a lot more like your daddy than I realized."

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><p>I'd been staying with Bobby for four days when a black '67 Impala pulled up into the driveway. Poking my head out from under the hood, I saw two guys hop out. One was insanely tall with long, dark hair and hazel eyes and the other was not-quite-as-tall-but-still-gigantic man with short blond hair and green eyes. I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed a different sized wrench and slid back under.<p>

Someone lightly kicked my ankle, "Hey, you wanna come out from under there and introduce yourself or what?" I slid out and saw the green-eyed man standing above me. I took his offered hand and jumped up, grabbing the t-shirt I'd tossed aside when noon had hit.

"Alice," I stuck my hand out with a grin.

"I'm Dean," he replied after shaking it, "You're cute, how old are you?" he asked with a smirk.

Okay this was awkward. He was like thirty- not to mention that if he was who I thought he was, this was just nasty. Even if we weren't related, back home, we would've creamed him for hitting on someone who was half his age. If you have to ask, stay the fuck away. I answered his question anyway, "Sixteen. You should be more careful. I know a lot of people who would've kicked your ass for even asking that question that way."

Dean quirked a brow, "Are you gonna come after me with that socket wrench, or am I safe this time?" I quickly dropped the tool and smiled, shaking my head, then we both started heading up to the house for dinner. Bobby didn't like letting the food get cold, so when he called, you came. I'd figured that out pretty quickly on my second night there.

Bobby served up a macaroni and cheese casserole and the three men started devouring it like they hadn't eaten in days. I, on the other hand, just picked at my food like I always do.

"Alice you're never going to put on weight if you keep picking at your food like a bird," Bobby scolded.

"Sorry, Bobby," I replied, shoveling a larger bite into my mouth. The casserole was delicious, but I was too nervous to have much of an appetite. I was sitting across from my father. This was the man who'd given me life and he didn't even know it. I had so many questions to ask him, but for some reason I couldn't get one word out.

"Alice, you with us, Squirt?" I glanced up. Bobby was staring at me with a concerned look, "If you don't like it, I can make you something else. I won't be offended."

I jumped, "What? No, that isn't it. The food is really good, I've just got a lot on my mind."

Dean looked up with his mouth full, "You wanna talk about it? Actually, Bobby told me that you were here looking for us. What happened?" He shut up when his brother scolded him for talking with his mouth full.

Bobby piped up for me, "I'll tell you after you finish your grub," then he gave a subtle nod in my direction. Let everyone finish their meals, then drop the bombs.

Dean and Sam finished eating fairly quickly. I took a little longer because of Bobby's insistence that I finish two bowls of pasta before letting me go. Then I went upstairs while the three men had a drink together. I didn't want to be around when they found out the truth.

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><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

Alice was a cute kid. Although I admit that the first thing I noticed was that she was a good looking chick, she seemed more like a little girl to me for some reason. Maybe it was the way she scrambled around or the way Bobby talked to her. Either way, I felt like I had to protect her from the first minute I knew her.

Bobby poured Sam and me each a glass of whiskey and sat down to take a long drink. _Shit_, he never did that unless there was some kind of massive news to be broken.

"So, Bobby," Sam said after a long silence, "Alice seems like a sweet kid and all, but who the hell is she?"

Bobby heaved a sigh, "Actually, boys, that's what I need to talk to you about. Dean, do you remember a woman named Rebecca Holmes?"

My stomach dropped into the floor. I didn't remember her, but there was only one reason he'd bring up a a woman. I stiffly shook my head and he continued, "You'd have slept with her about seventeen years ago. Anyway, Alice, as it turns out, is her daughter."

Sam raised his eyebrows, "Let me guess. Dean's her father," Bobby nodded with a pained look and Sam jumped up, "What the hell, Dean? One night stand, you don't even remember her and you're just gonna freaking roll the dice? Now there's a fucking kid in the world because of it and-"

"Shut the fuck up, Sam! Alright?" I scrubbed a hand down my face, "So, what? Do I get a blood test done or something? I mean, we don't even look alike."

"No, she's looks more like her mom, I assume," Bobby agreed, "but she has your eyes. And you haven't been with her for the past few days. She's not your clone, but she's yours, Dean. A coupla days with the kid and you can see your personality leaking through her."

This was admittedly terrifying. A fucking kid? I can deal with a lot of shit- monsters and demons and angels and any other fugly on this planet, but a teenage daughter was ten times as scary as anything of that. I didn't know how to be a dad. And on top of that, I was a hunter. That's no life for a kid. If I was going to be a dad, I'd have to give up hunting, and that couldn't happen.

"So what am I supposed to do here?"

"You're supposed to man up and take responsibility for your daughter. She didn't ask to be born, you did that. Now you gotta accept the consequences," Bobby snapped as he poured himself another drink.

"But I can't raise her. She'd be better off with her mother or with someone who has an actual life. I dunno, foster care or something," I countered. Bobby sat straight in his chair, gripping his glass until his knuckles turned white.

"Dean, that child was _in_ foster care. And you know what? It fucked her up. She's underweight and depressed and afraid to ask for the stuff she needs. Every night she's been here, she's had nightmares that left her screamin' and cryin' in the bed. She's broken, and it's your job to fix her, not send her back to the people who broke her!" he yelled. I'd never seen Bobby get so angry over something involving another person before. I mean, he's gotten pissed at me before, when I was fifteen and I snuck out to meet some chick, or more recently when Sam left with Ruby and I gave up on him.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I did need to step up, but how the hell was I supposed to do that and not be like my father? This kid needed a family who wasn't going to come home covered in blood and drink themselves into oblivion. She needed a family that wouldn't start the damn apocalypse or go nuts drinking demon blood. I tried to reason with myself that Alice would be better off in foster care or somewhere else, but for some damn reason I couldn't convince myself.

"Dammit, where's the kid?" I finally asked after another long silence.

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><p><strong>Finally, the Winchesters have arrived! I didn't want to write Dean as remembering Alice's mother just because of how he acts in the show. Dean is 33 which makes this set in early Season 8. I guess it's slight AU since Bobby's alive, but I couldn't let him be dead for this. I just love him way too much to allow that. Anyway, favourite, follow and review. Reviews make me happy!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Dean's POV**

When I got upstairs to the bedroom she was staying in, I could hear Alice talking to someone, probably on a cell phone.

"I know, isn't it amazing? You know, even yesterday I didn't think I'd actually ever get to meet him… No I didn't tell him. Bobby did just now I think… How do you think? I heard 'em shouting…" a sigh, "I dunno, Trish, honestly I'm kind of nervous. I heard him talking about sending me back to foster care… You know that I can't force him to accept me. If he doesn't want me, I'll just go back with you… Oh come on the chop shop wasn't _that_ bad… yeah, well, that only happened twice and Tony's gone now…"

I know it's wrong to eavesdrop on a phone conversation, and that I was only getting half a conversation, but she was talking about her life with this Trish. Even though she was trying to sound light about it, I could tell that it hadn't been something very pleasant.

Alice said goodbye to whoever was on the phone and I finally knocked on the door, "Hi, Alice."

"Hi," she smiled, tossing her phone on the bed.

"So Bobby told me the truth about you," I said, awkwardly leaning against the door frame. She scowled.

"God, you make it sound like I'm secretly a spy for the CIA. I'm not, by the way," I chuckled. Bobby was right, she was like me. Trying to use humour to lighten the mood. That's something I did all the time.

"You're a bit young for CIA," I cleared my throat and sat down on the edge of the bed, "Really though, I'm your dad?" she looked down and glued her eyes to the floor, but she nodded. Poor kid looked terrified, "You heard what we were saying down there, didn't you?" another nod, "Look, I'm not going to send you away. If you really are my kid then I gotta man up and be responsible for you."

"Even if I'd be better off somewhere else?" I cringed at the bitterness in her voice and realized that that'd probably been the exact line her foster parents had fed her before they kicked her out.

"Yeah," dark spots started appearing on her jeans and she swiped at her eyes. I realized just how scared she had been of being sent away. Damn, I was fucking this up big time. I tried to reassure her, "Hey, I didn't mean that. It's just scary finding out you have a kid. I say stupid things when I'm scared. I want you here, really I do."

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><p><strong>Alice's POV<strong>

He wanted me here? Yeah, I'd heard that one before. They always want me there at first. It's later when they get bored or angry that I find out what they're really like. Then if and when I fuck something up I find out how they really feel about me staying.

I felt an arm awkwardly wind around my shoulders. Dean was trying, I had to give him that. Maybe he was different from everyone else. Obviously he was, because he was my blood, but he didn't know me until now. That made him as much a stranger as all the others and I knew better than to let myself trust strangers automatically, although Bobby had been the exception to the rule.

"You wanna let me in on what's going on inside that head of yours?" Dean's voice jolted me from my thoughts.

"Just that I needed answers, not love. If you don't want me around it's okay. I have a place I can stay," I answered nonchalantly. He had to think that it didn't matter to me or he'd feel guilty if I did leave.

"Not that I'm gonna let you go anywhere, but where is this place you can go?" I could tell that he'd been hurt by what I said, but he was trying to brush it off.

"Chicago."

"Where in Chicago? I'd like an address," Dean demanded. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to see where I would run to if I got scared off or something. I stared down at my shoes, trying to come up with something acceptable. Dean shook his head, "You don't have a place, do you?" I shrugged. There was a homeless community where I had friends, but there were also a lot of people who I owed money. Going back there was doable, but it was also dangerous.

Dean didn't look like he knew how to react to that. He looked like he was blaming himself for what'd happened to me. But what was the point? He hadn't even known I was alive until today, "I don't understand why you're blaming yourself. None of that was your fault," I tried to reassure him, but he clenched his fists in his lap.

"I'm your father. It's my job to take care of you and you were living on the streets," his voice shook.

"You didn't know that you _were_ a father or that your kid was in a rough spot. How could you have? It's not like my mother told you she was pregnant. Anyway, I don't blame you for any of that, and there's no point in you blaming yourself," I said sternly. He shook his head and I could tell that I was getting nowhere. I tried a more gentle approach, "That stuff is in the past. There's no going back and no changing it. Now we just go forward."

He unclenched his fists and looked over at me, "How do you stay so calm about all this stuff? You should be pissed at me for not knowing you and at everyone who's ever kicked you out and at the rest of the world for consistently screwing you over."

I smiled. Dean just didn't get it, "I used to be, but then I met a man on the side of the road. He took me to a diner and bought me a meal. While we were there, he had me tell him about how I'd wound up where I was. When I finished, he said 'It looks like you've hit rock bottom, but look at the bright side. In my experience, when you hit bottom, the only place left to go is up.' I think about that all the time. Helps me see the silver lining in almost everything."

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><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

I talked with Alice for about an hour or so, until she yawned and I realized how late it was. Then I went downstairs and collected my thoughts over a drink. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I had a daughter. I mean, I didn't remember her mother. We'd probably both been drunk. Either that or it was right around the time when I lost my virginity and had started sleeping with any woman who'd look at me.

Alice wasn't a lot like me, aside from the love for cars and putting other people before herself. She was mature, so much so that I found it difficult to believe that she was related to me at all. Obviously she was tough from a life in foster care and on the streets, and it'd made her kind too. That made her a lot better than me. Given her past, I would've understood if she was cold and bitter. I would've been. Hell, I _was_ bitter.

I would've understood if she hated me. I probably would've been relieved if she'd taken a few swings at me. Then at least I could know that I'd gotten something that I deserved. But, she wasn't going to give me that.

A scream echoed down from Alice's bedroom upstairs. Sam and Bobby both snapped to attention, and Bobby gave me an I-told-you-so glance while I shot up the stairs. Alice was asleep in her bed, thrashing against the sheets, like she was trying to escape. But every time she moved, she got even more tangled.

She was talking in her sleep, crying out, "No… please… please… I'm sorry," over and over again like a chant. Another scream tore from her lips and I rushed over to the bed to try and wake her.

Touching her was obviously a mistake. The moment my hand touched her shoulder she panicked, thrashing and punching at my chest. I gently grabbed her wrists and pinned them against me, still calling her name and trying to wake her. She freaked out even wasn't working. She was too deep in nightmareland.

Sam came in and turned on the light. When he saw me struggling with Alice, he rushed over and knelt by her head, "Alice, it's Sam. Wherever you are, it isn't real. You're safe at Bobby's house," he said gently. Her screaming calmed a little, "I'm gonna count to three, okay? And when I get there, whatever nightmare you're in will disappear and you'll wake up. Alright?" Sam motioned for me to count.

It worked like magic. As soon as I hit three, Alice's eyes flew open and she sat up. Sam gave me a thank-me-later face and left as Alice buried her face in my chest.

I've dealt with crying women before. It's a near daily occurrence when your job involves talking to grieving mothers and widows. Usually, I can distance myself from them enough where it doesn't bother me or hurt. But as I sat there on the bed holding my daughter while she sobbed into me, my heart clenched.

I caused this. She never would've had the experiences that left her with nightmares if I had been there. She would've grown up safe and warm and loved. Instead, Alice spent her childhood going from house to house while they did God-knows-what to her all the time. Whatever it was, it was bad enough to give her nightmares like this one, and it was my fault.

It took half an hour for her to calm down enough to breathe, and even then, Alice didn't pull away. I didn't either, not until she'd fallen asleep in my arms. Then I tucked her into bed and left her to rest.

"Dude, where'd you learn to do that?" I asked Sam once I'd gotten downstairs.

He stared down and let out a sigh, "Jess used to have night terrors. Her parents had used a trigger to wake her up since she was a kid. When we moved in together, she taught it to me. If you do the same thing every time, eventually you'll be able to just count to three and wake her up."

Bobby handed us each another drink. This was a hard night so far. Sam was thinking about Jessica, I met my long lost daughter. At this point I wouldn't be surprised if Bobby was secretly a vampire. God, this night just needed to end.

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><p><strong>Anybody catch the <em>Atlantis: The Lost Empire<em> reference in this? Love that movie. I couldn't resist doing another nightmare scene, but I wanted to play with it a little. Next chapter is going to have lots of Sammy. Don't forget to favourite, follow, and review. Reviews make me happier than a cat at a tuna factory!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to everyone who's favourited/followed and left reviews. It's really helped motivate me to write more in a day. :)**

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><p><strong>Alice's POV<strong>

I woke up with puffy eyes. _Great, _I thought, _I get to go downstairs with my face looking like a tomato. That'll sit great with everyone. _I didn't really remember Dean coming upstairs, but I noticed a scent on my shirt that didn't belong to me.

Heading downstairs, I avoided looking in the mirror and seeing just how shitty I looked so far. Dean was flipping eggs in the kitchen, and he met me with a smile. Then Bobby sat me down with three strips of bacon and some eggs. Apparently, I was still too skinny. I picked at my eggs and nibbled a strip of bacon, but I really wasn't hungry. I offered Dean the rest of my breakfast.

"No way. Bobby's right about you being too skinny. Any doctor would say the same thing," I scowled and went back to picking at my eggs. Dean's eyes softened, "You wanna talk about your nightmare last night? You were pretty upset."

Oh my God, Dean was the one who came in. I figured it was Bobby, since the older man had been taking care of me for the past few days. Dean wasn't touchy-feely from what I'd seen, so I hadn't imagined that he, in a million years, would choose to comfort me after a nightmare.

I shrugged, "There isn't really much to talk about. It was just a dream."

"What was it about? If you keep it bottled up, it's just going to keep eating at you."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Why do you care so much?" I snapped. Why the hell was he pushing this so much?

"Because I can't help you if I don't know what's going on," he answered seriously.

"Maybe I don't want your help."

He threw his hands out to his sides, "You're trying to be tough, but you're not foolin' anyone, Kid. I saw you last night and I know that this stoic bullshit is just bullshit."

I dropped my fork with a clatter and stood up, "I'm trying to not get hurt, alright? You're not going to be in my life forever, nobody ever is. Even if you don't end up wanting to get rid of me, something will happen and you won't have a choice because that's what always happens!" The words rushed out of me like a tidal wave before I could stop them. I clapped a hand over my mouth, eyes wide.

Dean stared at me for a moment before looking down and taking a deep breath, "There really isn't much I can say to convince you that I'm not gonna leave you, is there?" he said quietly. I was beyond trying to keep him from feeling guilty about my past.

"I've heard it all by now. 'I'm not like the other families,' and 'you're important to me,' and 'you're my little girl and I love you,'" he winced at the last one, but I was done with silence. If Dean wanted me to open up so bad, he was going to have to deal with this side too. Storming out, I snatched up the instrument case by the front door and headed into the junkyard.

I couldn't believe that I'd said something like that. Sure, I was angry at Dean for pushing me the way he had. But his intentions hadn't been bad and I'd dumped a lot of shit on him back there. I didn't know what to do, so I started looking for a place to hide.

After a long walk, I found a tree way out be behind the junkyard. It was fairly sheltered and difficult to spot from the house. Sitting down against the trunk, I opened the case and stared at the violin inside for a moment. Then I rubbed some resin on the bow and started to play.

I didn't play anything special; just some songs I'd learned in one of the better homes I'd lived in. The weren't difficult or particularly interesting, but they took my mind off of Dean. So far, this life was nothing like my fantasies. We hadn't clicked instantly. I hadn't suddenly felt safe when I met him, and the old fear of being left alone again had only grown stronger. I was frustrated and scared.

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><p><strong>Sam's POV<strong>

I woke up to the sound of arguing. Alice seemed to be making an effort to keep her voice low, and she was succeeding, but Dean was a different story. He either didn't notice or didn't care that his voice was steadily rising. Someone stormed out, but they didn't slam the door like Dean would normally do.

Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and looked over at the breakfast table in the next room. Dean was sitting at the breakfast table, seemingly in shock. He got up and stormed into the study. Bobby sat in an armchair shaking his head.

"Dammit, Dean," he muttered, "He just had to push the poor kid."

"What happened?" I yawned.

"Alice didn't want to talk about her nightmare and your brother decided to be a brat about it and push her. It doesn't take much to make the girl defensive," Bobby explained.

I nodded, "Is there any more food?" I asked, changing the subject. Dean upset the kid, Dean was going to have to deal with the aftermath.

But while I ate, I just felt bad for Alice. Something had obviously happened in her life to make her act this way. It probably had nothing to do with Dean pushing her. I remembered being a kid and doing the same kind of thing, clamming up and getting defensive when other people started asking me questions.

So, I did what most people would do: I went after Alice. My plan was to go out and make some small talk before starting to get down to the real problems, but I knew it probably wouldn't work like that. Sometimes, people needed to talk on their terms instead of answering questions.

I started combing through the junkyard. About five minutes in, I heard music. Following it, I found Alice sitting under the big willow tree in the back of the lot playing a violin. She was good, but she looked bored. I tried not to startle her as I headed over to sit down next to her.

"Hey, Alice," I greeted once she'd finished, "Whatcha playin?"

She rested the instrument on her knee, "Just messing around. I'm sorry if I was bothering you. I'm done now, though."

"No, you weren't bothering anyone. You're really good."

"Thanks."

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><p><strong>Alice's POV<strong>

Sam smiled and told me that I played well. Of course, I accepted the compliment, but I didn't believe it. I'd played one of the graces wrong and had completely forgotten to crescendo in the fourth measure. Still, he probably didn't know much about music and I knew that people always noticed their own mistakes more often than other people did.

"Not to be rude, but were you looking for something?" I asked after a short silence.

"Not really. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Dean doesn't always get the concept of giving people space. I know how overwhelming it can be talking to him," Sam explained. He sounded genuine.

"I'm alright. I feel bad for getting so defensive so fast, but I wish he'd have left it alone," Why was I opening up to Sam so easily? I didn't even know him. For all I knew, he might hold everything I said over my head later. Even still, I knew what the next thing he said would be.

"He did have a point, though. You should talk about it. Believe me, if you don't it'll drive you crazy."

And there it was, "Believe me, you probably don't want to know," I said, trying to steer him away. It was the truth; Sam and Dean seemed like they'd seen a lot of bad things, but they probably hadn't dealt with something like what was in my nightmares.

He frowned, "Don't keep it inside to spare us. If you want to talk about it, I'm here. I promise that I won't hold it over your head, and I don't even have to say anything if you don't want me to. If you really don't want to talk though, I'll respect that," he assured, looking over at me with big dewy eyes. I hated it when people used eyes like those. They weren't fair.

I crumbled, "When I was twelve, I got sent back by my twenty-third family. The lawyer assigned to my case, Ana, was running out of places to send me without crossing state lines. So, she sent me to the Andersons. They were nice for the first few weeks, while Ana was still checking on me," I paused, taking a deep breath. I glanced up at Sam, wondering if I should keep going.

"It's okay. Go on," he encouraged.

"After I'd been living with them for about a month, they stopped feeding us. There were two other girls there. We were pretty much just government money magnets. Then the father, Mark, started drinking. He got violent when he was drunk and the other kids and I learned really quickly to lock our doors when he was on a bender.

"Anyway, about a year in, he and his wife, Isabelle, had a fight. She moved out for a couple of days. I guess he decided he was bored. I was the oldest one out of the three of us," I couldn't see anymore. Tears started making their way down my face, but I had to finish now, "He told me that he thought I was the prettiest and that he'd been watching me. Like I hadn't noticed that he'd 'accidentally' walked in on me too many times for it to make sense. He said that I should be flattered by what he was doing to me and that if I screamed, he'd be very hurt. I knew that meant he'd go after the others, so I stayed still."

Sam took a shaky breath, "Oh my God, Alice."

I let out a bitter laugh, "You have questions," it wasn't a question, just a statement of fact.

"I only have one that's important: did he go to jail?" he asked. He was doing the dewy eyes again. Fear flashed through me. He couldn't find out about what happened the night I left. Seeing my expression, he quickly added, "I'm not here to judge you, I just want to know that he can't hurt anyone else like he hurt you."

"Don't worry. His days of attacking girls are over," I answered simply. There was no way in Hell that he was getting me to elaborate on that. Dewy eyes or not.

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><p><strong>Oh, Alice, what did you do? Finally some bonding with Uncle Sammy. Anyway, this was definitely one of my favourite chapters to write since I finally got to put down some of Alice's backstory. Don't forget to favourite, follow and review. Reviews make me happier than a slinky on an escalator.<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Alice's POV**

I was glad to not hear anything more about Mark Anderson from Sam. He was probably itching to find out what'd happened when I left, but I didn't really care.

I'd been staying with Bobby for about a week while I tried to get to know my father. It wasn't easy. Every time we started to get somewhere, one of us would ask something that would make the other one clam up. And to make things worse, Sam told him about my nightmare and now he was tiptoeing around my time in foster care.

So far, I had learned that Dean was a mechanic (which I didn't believe), that he and Sam had grown up in Kansas (which I also didn't believe). They'd known combat. Maybe they weren't soldiers, but I was willing to bet my ass on that. Plus he stuttered when he lied, and he stuttered a lot.

I was spending a lot of time working on the Mustang, which was weird because I couldn't even drive. Dean would come out and make sure I was okay a lot, usually staying to help. He came out around noon today, right when it started to get hot.

"Need a hand?"

I slid out from under the hood and pulled off my tee, "Do I need one? No. Would I like one? Sure. You can help me get the roof back up."

Dean nodded, laying back in the front seat. After a few minutes of failed attempts, he asked me to hand him a sledgehammer. I turned my back to get it for him when I heard him inhale sharply.

"What?" I asked, handing him the tool.

"Your back," he croaked. I didn't know what he was talking about. There were a couple of scars, just from stupid accidents in the chop shop, and a tattoo down the left side. None of that was particularly shocking.

"What about my back?" I snapped, "I don't think I've mutated since my last shower, so as far as I know it's just a back."

He stared at me for a minute with misty eyes until I started to get uncomfortable and put my shirt back on. Then he went back to putting the roof back in place. He ran off as soon as it was done. God, he was such a child.

I worked for the rest of the day without taking off my t-shirt. By five, I was hot and sticky but I'd made a lot of progress on the car. I'd be done in another week or so. Bobby made beef stew for dinner, which was delicious, but the meal was awkward with Dean not meeting my eyes and nobody saying a word.

Bobby broke the silence to scold me for picking at my food again. I took a couple of real bites, but then I was back to poking it with the spoon. I just wasn't hungry. Sam gave me a sympathetic smile that I barely caught, but Dean ate quickly and left.

"What the hell is his problem?" I asked once he'd gone. Bobby shrugged and looked at Sam to answer.

"He's beating himself up over what he saw outside today," he finished like a question.

Seriously? That's what this was still about? I crossed my arms, "He saw two scars and a tattoo. They weren't from being abused, I just backed into a saw at the machine shop. It was stupid, but it wasn't even that bad. Just needed stitches."

Sam sighed, "Dean doesn't see it that way. From his perspective, his kid got hurt and he couldn't stop it. He'll get over it soon enough. How'd you get a tattoo at sixteen?" he was changing the subject. My tattoo probably wasn't the best choice of topics, but I'd take what I could get.

"There's a thing that you can do at a tattoo parlour. It's called lying. Of course, a little extra cash doesn't hurt," I answered.

That was only half true. I'd gotten two or three parts of it done at a parlour, but Tricia and I had done most of it ourselves. I remembered sitting in a dark room with bottles of ink and alcohol while Trish dipped a needle into my flesh over and over. It had taken over an hour every time we'd tattooed each other. No numbing, very little equipment, so we'd chosen the words with care.

I was done talking for the night. If they wanted to know anything else, they were going to have to Google it. I headed upstairs, ignoring Bobby's protests about me not having finished my food. Sam and Dean were getting on my nerves with all of their questions. It's not like they were trying to upset me with them, I knew that. I was overreacting.

I locked the spare room door and plopped down on the bed. _Fuck him, _I thought, _If they can't get off his self-pitying high horse long enough to figure out that I'm right here and wanting to move forward, fuck him. I'll just go back to fucking Chicago._ Pulling out my phone, I hit speed dial.

It rang twice, "Hello?"

"Hi Tricia," God, I missed her voice. I knew that it'd only been a week since I'd last spoken to her, but I still missed her.

"Alice! How are you? How are they treating you? Are you alright? What's going on?" she exclaimed, and I could picture her hopping out of a chair to scurry somewhere private.

"They aren't treating me badly, but they're pretty clueless when it comes to asking the right questions. It doesn't matter, I just wanted to hear your voice. How are you?"

"I'm doing okay. I'm a little worried about scraping enough together for this month's rent. But the high school's gonna let me in," she said nonchalantly. I knew how bad it must be for her.

Tricia didn't go to school unless there wasn't enough money. Affluent high school students that are under too much pressure and want to rebel. A lot of them used drugs to do just that. Weed and coke are the most popular in Chicago. At twenty-five bucks a gram, she brings in cash pretty quickly when she needs it. I would've sold too when money got too tight, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Especially since I didn't do drugs myself.

"Do you need anything? Selling in schools is pretty desperate."

"Yeah, well, you do what you gotta do, right?" Tricia was trying to be tough, but I knew her too well for it. I was about to say something when I heard a crash and a shout on the other line, "Shit! Listen, Alice, I gotta go. I'll call you later, okay?"

I heard her shout, "Come and get me, Bitch!" to someone, then the line went dead. It was probably some assholes after her wallet. That or the cops. Tricia was usually pretty good at getting away, but it'd be a lie if I said I wasn't worried. If something happened to her while I was sitting here in South Dakota, I'd lose my mind. But I knew that Trish was in fugitive-mode right now. Even if I did call, it wouldn't matter. Her phone was probably turned off. If it wasn't and she was hiding, the ringtone would get her killed.

Great, just great. My sister was in the middle of a foot chase, my uncle was- I didn't even know what he was doing, and my father was sulking for no reason. That left me. Sitting here. Alone. Have I mentioned my fear of being alone? Because it was really acting up right then. I could've taken care of it just by heading downstairs, but I was just too damn stubborn to do that. So I sat there. Alone.

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><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

When Alice turned around to get the sledgehammer, it seemed like she didn't even remember that there were scars on her back. I'll admit, they didn't look like they were from a beating and they weren't what upset me. What did that was the long tattoo that stretched down her back just to the left of her spine. I'd seen tattoos like that before.

I had a friend when I was living at Sonny's Home for Boys who was in foster care. He had a list of all the families that had sent him away. It was written on a shoe, but he'd planned to have it tattooed on his arm once he was old enough to get out of the system.

Alice's list was long; there were at least twenty names, and some were dotted or starred. I didn't know what that meant, but it probably wasn't good. And I felt guilty. She was my daughter, and I had let her grow up feeling worthless. No, I didn't know I had a daughter, but that's no excuse. I should've found out. I should've kept in touch with her mother, or even just done something to remember her. I had probably never even learned her name. God, she must've had such a hard time. Teen moms always get the short end of- well, everything. Especially when the father isn't in the picture.

"_When you hit bottom, the only place left to go is up," _Alice's voice echoed in my head, and I couldn't help but grin. She really was something, and I didn't want to lose her. I had to start fixing things.

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><p><strong>Hi guys! Dean's finally starting to actually step up, which means that there are going to be some Dad moments with him and Alice. So, if you have something that you would like to see, feel free to leave a review or shoot me a PM and I will write it in the coming chapters. Like always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review. Reviews make me happier than a baby elephant in a mud hole. :)<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Dean's POV**

Sit down and talk to Alice on her terms. That was what I knew I had to do. If I could get her to trust me, I could make things work between us. Then I could help her heal from the things that were done to her.

I knocked on her door and jiggled the knob. Of course it was locked, "Alice? It's Dean. Can you open up?"

The lock clicked open and a big green eye peered through a crack, "Are you done sulking? Or are you going to throw another tantrum over the papercut I just got?" I chuckled. Yup, she was definitely my kid. The door swung open and Alice plopped down on the bed.

"So what's up?" she asked.

I took a deep breath and sat down next to her, "I'm sorry for the way I reacted earlier."

"Well it was a bit cliché," I blinked in confusion and waited for her to elaborate, "Long lost father sees the scars on his kid's back and instantly assumes that she's been abused her entire life."

"I wasn't upset over the scars," I admitted.

"What was it then?"

"Your tattoo. It's a list isn't it?" I knew I was right when Alice sucked in a breath.

"How the hell do you know about lists?" she demanded. I told her about my friend at Sonny's and she nodded.

"Mine used to be written on a box. I started tattooing them when I was fourteen."

Finally, an honest answer from the kid. Maybe I was starting to get through to her, "How many names are there?"

Alice looked down, clenching her fists in the sheets, "Twenty-three. Including the family the family I was adopted by."

"You were adopted?" That was a surprise. I thought that she'd grown up in foster care. She nodded.

"Yeah, as when I was about three. Well I say I was adopted, but they were foster parents who treated me like I was theirs. They took care of me until I was about six, when they had their own kid."

"And what? They just sent you back?" she nodded. How could somebody do that to a kid? Babies are tough, everybody knows that. But I'm pretty sure that parents aren't supposed to send their oldest kid away when they have a second child. That's just wrong.

"Yeah. I'll admit that it was a bit of a shock when they told me, but I got used to it pretty fast," she said quietly, "I wasn't their daughter, and they had to make sure that their own kid got everything he needed. I was just a burden at that point."

How could she think that? How could anyone think that? She was six years old! Little kids aren't burdens, they're little kids. Yeah they can be a pain-in-the-ass, but they sure as hell aren't burdens. So what if she wasn't their daughter? If I ever met the assholes, I was going to tear them a new one.

"Look, Alice, I know that you were in some not-so-great homes and I know they messed you up. And I'm not saying that I can ever completely understand what you must've gone through at some of those places, but I want to help you."

**Alice's POV**

I had never heard someone say something like that. Dean wanted to help me. He wasn't pretending to understand or trying to stroke his own ego. He wanted to help. It was like something clicked into place between us, and I couldn't stay guarded anymore.

"The names with the stars were the ones that were abusive. There are three," I whispered. Was this the right call? "Six families treated me well, but things happened that made them have to send me back. Everyone else gave me what I needed and didn't abuse me, but they weren't exactly kind."

Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on her knees. I studied his expression while he took in what I'd told him. Emotions danced across his eyes: disbelief, anger, horror, frustration, and most of all, guilt. He was still blaming himself for all of this.

"Did you go to school?" he asked.

No more lying, "I did as a child, but I stopped before I really hit high school. I spend a lot of time in libraries, though. Learned French and read Shakespeare, so I didn't miss much."

That was hard to admit. When I tell people that I didn't go to high school, they usually think I'm a slacker or an idiot. I am neither of those things. The only reason that I stopped going to school was that I was tired of being picked on for being a foster kid. Even if I didn't tell anyone, it was hard to miss. Your clothes always smell like garbage bags and the teachers are always keeping an eye on you like you're going to pull a gun and start shooting up the place.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. Again with the apologizing. I was getting fed up with this.

"You know what? I'm sick and tired of all this self-pity. If you want to blame someone for my winding up in foster care, blame my mother. She knew I existed, and she left me in an alley for someone to find. She didn't tell you she was pregnant, and there's no way you could've known. So get over it. Yeah, I had a shitty childhood, but it wasn't your fault, and it's not like I never smiled, so just get over it," I stopped and took a breath.

I realized that I was pacing around the room and quickly sat down, looking at the floor. I'd said too much, and now I was going to see some kind of repercussion. Clenching my fists, I tried to control my breathing and calm down. I was not going to panic now. I was not going to panic. He wasn't going to hurt me.

"You're right," he said. I glanced up, was he for real? "I've been an ass, haven't I? You've got your past, and your problems. I need to step up and be there for you and wallowing in my own guilt isn't going to help."

Finally! I'd started to think that I'd never get anywhere with him. Now that he'd recognized that, we could actually build a relationship. Maybe. If he wanted to.

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><p><strong>Sorry for the short chapter, guys. However, I am happy to announce the end of the tensionheaviness. Next chapter will be fluffy family bonding! (cheers) Also, I ****_love _****suggestions! If there's anything you'd like to see, leave a review or shoot me a PM and I will use it at some point! As usual, don't forget to favourite, follow and review! They make me happier than a monkey at a banana farm!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Alice's POV**

Dean was helping me with the car again. We were putting in new windows, and it was _hot _today. After about an hour, we had both peeled off our tops and it was my turn to stare at his scars. There was one in particular that bothered me: the handprint his arm. It looked like a burn scar, but it was in the shape of a handprint. What could do that? I had never seen anything like it before.

"What?" he asked, catching me staring. I explained my confusion and he chuckled, "Oh that. It's a long story."

We finished up the window we were on and watched Sam jog over to us, hair bouncing. I stifled a giggle while I watched him; he looked almost ridiculous, "Hey, Sam."

He smiled and looked between Dean and me, "I was thinking maybe we could go into town and get some dinner, give Bobby a break."

Dean glanced my way and grinned, "Yeah that sounds like a good idea. Alice, why don't you go get cleaned up? I've gotta talk to Sam."

I nodded, wiping my hands on the cloth he handed me and heading back into the house. This was new, going out with them. I was excited; more excited than I should've been. Going out with Sam and Dean in public was my chance to learn a lot more about what they were like. How did they act in public? What kind of food did they prefer? What did they like to drink? How did they treat their waitress?

Jumping in a cool shower, I scrubbed the oily smell out of my hair and tried to relax. This was stupid. I shouldn't be so nervous about going out for lunch. But I was, and there wasn't much I could do about it for now. Besides, they were my family, not some assholes who'd decided that I was going to make them a few dollars.

When I emerged from the bathroom, my hair was twisted into an inverted braid and I was wearing my favourite yellow top. Dean was standing in the hallway with his arms crossed. When he saw me, he grinned.

"You better not have used all the hot water," he warned playfully before ducking in past me. I shook my head and put my bag back in the spare room.

When everyone was ready, we climbed into the Impala and started heading into town. I loved it inside of that car, with the way the engine hummed. Even with Dean driving double the speed limit, my eyelids were starting to droop a little by the time we reached Sioux Falls. But when I climbed out of the backseat, I was instantly alert again.

They took me to a quaint little diner on a quiet street. I immediately liked it there; it was cozy and inviting and the whole place smelled like french fries. Dean flirted with the waitress a little and ordered a bacon cheeseburger. Sam got a salad, which made sense considering his slight obsession with staying healthy, and I got a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich.

"Why do you look so happy?" Dean asked, noticing my smile, "You look like a kid on Christmas."

I didn't want to ruin the mood by admitting that I hadn't been out to eat in awhile, so I giggled, "It smells like french fries in here." Sam laughed and shook his head.

We made small talk while we ate. Sam asked me about my violin and got me rambling about different styles of music for a few minutes, but I stopped when I got to the fries that came with my sandwich. They were fresh and salty, and so moist that I didn't even need ketchup with them.

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><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

I was really glad that Sam had suggested we go out. Alice hadn't looked so at ease since we'd met her, and I loved this place. Sam and I shared a glance while Alice rambled happily about an old music teacher she'd had. She hadn't said this much in days, and honestly, I was a little jealous of how easily she'd relaxed when we'd gotten here. I, on the other hand, was more on edge than normal.

Out in public, we were exposed. Anything could come at any moment, and Alice had no idea how to defend herself against the supernatural. I'd have to tell her soon.

"Can I get you guys anything else?" the waitress, Emily, said pulling me out of my thoughts. I smirked.

"Actually, Sweetheart, do you guys have any pie?"

When she came back with the slice, Sam paid the check while I started to eat. I noticed Alice glancing at it every now and again. Poor kid was shy, I knew that. When Emily had taken her order, she'd had to say it almost three times before she was actually heard and understood. She'd probably been too timid to ask for a slice for herself.

I put a bite on my fork and held it out to her, "Want some?" I asked. She nodded and hesitantly took it. I wondered why she was so quiet all of a sudden, but I brushed it off as Alice being Alice: bold and tough when she felt like she had to be, but like a little kid the rest of the time.

After we'd paid and I'd finished my pie, we decided to walk around for awhile. Alice looked around at the different shops, and Sam and I tried to figure out what was going on inside her head. As we walked by a jewelry shop, I noticed her staring at a little silver charm bracelet in the window, but she didn't say anything. I checked the time and noticed that it was a little after eight.

"Hey, Sam, why don't you take Alice back to the car. I'll meet you there in a minute. I gotta take care of something," Sam gave me a curious look, but started leading Alice back towards where I parked the Impala anyway.

I headed into the shop.

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><p><strong>Sam's POV<strong>

Alice got strangely quiet as I walked back with her to the car. I wondered what she was thinking. I had wondered what she was thinking for the last two weeks. That kid was so mysterious, it wasn't even funny.

Dean had taken off to do something and left Alice with me. Maybe that was what was making the kid nervous. He'd be back. I knew that, but I was just a little bit pissed at him for taking off and making her nervous like that. He knew that she had problems with stuff like that.

"He'll be back in a minute. Probably just had to take a leak," I reassured her. She nodded, but didn't say anything. Ten minutes later, Dean showed up asking why we weren't in the car. Then he realized that he had the keys.

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><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

The lady at the jewelry store had given me a weird look when I handed her an anti-possession charm to put on the bracelet, but I was going to keep my daughter safe, no matter what weird looks I got while I did it. After I'd paid and stuffed the little box in my jacket, I took off, face burning from the glares and whispers.

Three times, I explained in that store that the charm was not satanic, it was a protective sigil. But even as I left, I still heard people whispering about me being a devil worshipper. Why couldn't people just mind their own business?

I glanced in the rearview mirror at the back seat. Alice had fallen asleep right after we hit the highway and was now slumped over in the seat. She looked peaceful with her lips slightly parted and her dark hair starting to escape the braid she'd put it in.

"She's growin' on you, isn't she?" Sam asked after I turned down the music.

"Shut up, Bitch."

He snorted, "Okay, Jerk."

* * *

><p>When we reached Bobby's house, it was almost ten. I wondered how Alice could sleep so early, but I didn't want to wake her. She hadn't been sleeping well since she'd arrived here. Sam headed inside and left me to take care of her.<p>

I hooked my arms under her and, trying not to hit her head against the car, lifted her out of it. She tensed for a second before curling into my chest with a yawn. I carried her as quickly as I could manage into the house and up to her bed. The kid was heavier than she looked, and by the time I was halfway up the stairs I was almost out of breath, but I managed to tuck her in without dinging her against a wall.

Bobby was waiting for me downstairs with a glass of whiskey and a pleased expression, "How's it going?"

"Slowly, but she's starting to relax around us," I answered, taking a sip. He nodded and sat down.

"Dean, we need to tell her, sooner rather than later," I instantly knew what he was talking about.

"I know," I gestured towards the stairs, "I just don't want to take away the innocence she has left. Not yet."

Bobby shook his head, "Dean, there's a hunt. I've been trying to get someone on it, but there's nobody right now and I have to watch the phones. Damn thing's killed four people already."

I sighed. I didn't want to tell her yet, but maybe I could get around it for now, "Alright. We'll leave tomorrow."

* * *

><p><strong>Hey guys! So sorry for not putting anything up yesterday, but I was really busy. I'm going to try to keep publishing every day, but I'm getting ready for music camp so I may fail at that. Anyway, don't forget to favourite, follow and review. Reviews make me happier than a penguin at a fish market!<strong>


	9. Chapter 9 -- Author's Update

I know, I know, it's an author's update and those are no fun.

Alright, guys I am very sad to announce that I am going on hiatus. I've been trying to write chapters while I get ready for Music Camp, but one of the songs for my audition decided to Nope and now I have to relearn the whole thing (again). Right after that, I have a family trip and won't be able to write while I'm there.

In conclusion, I'll be away until August 18th and I will resume publishing as soon as I get back. I hope you all understand.

Love you all!

~Tasha


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey guys! I'm back! I know, long time no see. Hope your month was as lovely as mine was, although I've been itching to get back to writing. Anyway, here's an extra long chapter to break the metaphorical ice! :)**

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><p><strong>Alice's POV<strong>

I woke up in my bed at about six in the morning. There was a moment of confusion before I realized what must've happened and burst into a fit of giggles. I hadn't been carried to bed in years. Normally people just left me where I was or woke me up.

Climbing out of bed, I changed my clothes and took my hair down. It was still wavy from the braid I'd had it in. I was zipping up my backpack when I heard a knock at the door. It creaked open and I saw Bobby standing with his hand over his eyes.

"Make yourself decent, Squirt, I'm supposed to come wake you up," he said loudly.

"I'm already up. What's going on?" I asked with a laugh. He dropped his hand to his side.

"Your daddy's got a job in Paris, Tennessee. He doesn't wanna leave you here, so it looks like you're goin' on a little road trip," he explained. Paris? What the hell was in Paris?

"What's the job?"

Bobby shrugged, "He'll tell ya when you get there. For now, pack up and come eat breakfast. You guys are leavin' in an hour."

Shrugging, I pulled on my boots and started heading downstairs. Sam and Dean were sitting at the breakfast table scarfing down eggs and toast. Sam got up when he saw me, grabbing a third plate from the counter and setting it across from him.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked as I started to tuck in.

"Pretty good. Did one of you carry me in last night? I don't remember leaving the car," I asked around a bite. Dean glanced up.

"I did. You're heavier than you look," he grumbled. I guess I had Bobby to thank for that. The old man had been feeding me like a linebacker since I'd arrived. That combined with working on the Mustang every day had made me gain a bit of muscle. Maybe now they'd stop fussing over how much I was eating.

I changed the subject an decided to ask about the job in Paris. Dean told me that he'd been hired to restore some dead guy's car, but based on the look he exchanged with Sam, I could tell that he was lying. Besides, why the hell would someone drive from South Dakota to Tennessee to fix a car? And why would anyone in their right mind hire a guy from out of state to do it? It just didn't make sense.

Bobby glared at Dean before shaking his head and starting to clean the pan that'd been tossed in the sink. That settled it. Everyone here knew something about this "job" that I didn't, and I was going to find out what it was. Even if I had to stalk them in every way possible, I was going to find out.

We said our goodbyes to Bobby, who planted a sloppy kiss on my hairline and told me to make sure I kept eating. Then I climbed into the back seat of the Impala and made myself comfortable. I had a notepad and pencils in my backpack, and I intended to draw until the engine put me to sleep, but I couldn't think of anything. A small box landed in my lap.

"That's for you," Dean said from the driver's seat. I opened it and found the bracelet from the shop window with a weird charm attached. It looked like a pentacle with flames spiraling out. Dean spoke up, "That's a protective charm; it essentially wards evil. My family has used them for a long time."

"You're superstitious?" I asked. I hadn't seen that coming; Dean seemed like the kind of person who only believed in what he could see. I watched his jaw tighten in the rearview mirror as he tightly nodded.

"Yeah, I am. Just do me a favour and keep it on like all the time; give your old man a break," he asked. I didn't argue with him, but I made Sam do up the little clasp on my wrist. Studying the little metal disc, I wondered what it was supposed to protect against. Dean had said evil, but what kind? There were a lot of evil things in the world, especially if you believed in monsters.

Dean didn't say anything after that. I didn't either, just curled up in the back seat and started sketching the symbol on the charm. It was nice to see that he cared enough to give me something he thought would protect me, even if it was just superstition.

I fell asleep about three hours into the drive, and when I woke again it was dark out. Raindrops streaked the windows as we continued to head south. I yawned and sat up, twirling the bracelet around my wrist with my fingers.

"Morning, Ali," Dean said, trying out a new nickname, "We're about three hours out."

I grinned at my new nickname; it meant that we were getting somewhere again. But my nip of joy faded fast. Something felt wrong, almost like there was a lot more to this than what I was aware of. Over the years, I'd learned to trust my instinct, and right now it was telling me to get as far away from this place as possible and if I didn't, something bad was going to happen.

"Hey Dean," he looked back into the rearview mirror, "you'll protect me, right? I have a bad feeling about this place," I said, letting my voice drop to a whisper. His eyes softened as he nodded. I relaxed a little.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a bed inside a cheap motel. Sam was passed out in the other one and Dean was on the couch. The clock on the nightstand read 5:46. The bad feeling was still there, like a tight knot in my gut, but I tried to ignore it.

I pulled out my sketchbook and started doodling while I waited for Sam and Dean to wake up. For some reason, I kept picturing a man. The way I saw him, he had a pale round face and jet black hair. His eyes were round and charred around the edges, like someone had burnt off the lids, and his mouth was carved into a malicious grin. When I had finished, the drawing was almost nightmare inducing, but it still felt incomplete.

I grabbed a new pencil and wrote _Go to sleep _in script under the face. A shiver ran up my spine. Where the hell had this come from? I didn't even draw horror! This was new, and for some reason it scared me more than it should've.

Sam sat up with a loud yawn. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around and smiled when he saw me sprawled across my bed surrounded by art supplies. Dean got up a moment later and made a beeline for the restroom. It was almost funny.

A few minutes later, Dean and I headed out to get breakfast while Sam got ready. I was still spooked from the drawing I'd made and didn't talk much until Dean said something.

"Are you okay? You seem kind of tense."

"Did you guys carry me in last night?" I asked. I didn't want to talk about the drawing. It seemed stupid to be so freaked out by something _I'd _made. Maybe if I'd seen it somewhere, but not when I'd made it.

Dean scrunched up his eyebrows, "Of course. I couldn't very well leave you in the Impala all night, could I?"

"You didn't have to carry me. I would've woken up if you'd shaken me or something," I said. I felt a little guilty that he'd felt like he'd had to carry me to bed again.

"I didn't want to," I gave him a questioning look and he shrugged, "You looked calm."

He didn't say anything for the rest of the drive, which was fine. I wasn't in the mood for talking, although it was hard to stifle the grin that tugged at the corners of my mouth.

When we got back to the motel, they told me that I'd have to stay there for the day. I was a little annoyed, but I didn't argue. I still didn't completely trust them yet, and the last thing I wanted to do was piss them off. If they wanted to, they could end me without a second thought.

After they left, I tried to amuse myself. I drew and wrote and watched TV and sang until I was almost hoarse and jumped on the beds and everything else I could think to do. But by two o' clock, I was bored out of my mind. So I did the only thing I could think to do: I went out.

The first thing I came across on my little adventure was a strip mall complete with a greasy spoon on the end. I was bored and had a little wad of cash in my pocket, so I decided to do a little shopping. But within five minutes, I was walking out of the last shop with three chocolate bars and a pair of stud earrings. Shopping here was too easy; almost everything they sold was horrible.

As I walked back along the sidewalk towards the motel, I got the same strange feeling I'd gotten that morning. This time, though, I could've sworn I felt cold breath on the back of my neck. _Go to sleep, _it whispered.

I turned around, dropping the shopping bag and curling my hands into fists. But I was faced with nothing but empty air. _Well, _I thought, _that was creepy. _Then, without a moment's delay, a sleek black 1967 Chevrolet Impala slowed to a stop beside me. I debated running for a moment, but then I remembered that they'd just be waiting for me at the motel.

Dean stepped out of the driver's side, "What the hell are you doing out here?" he shouted, "I told you to stay at the room!" I involuntarily flinched, but then I steeled myself.

"I was in there for hours, I got bored," I answered, keeping my voice low.

"When I tell you to stay in the room, you stay in the room!" he practically screamed. I didn't bother answering him. I just started walking, "Alice! Get in the car!"

"My feet work just fine!" I said, trying to control my breathing. Screaming led to other things, worse things. All the nights I spent in the hospital because I "fell down the stairs" or got beat up "at school" started rushing back to me.

I walked towards a woody area until the panic attack was completely out of control. Collapsing under a tree, I pulled my knees up to my chest and tried to slow my breathing. If I kept hyperventilating, I'd pass out and that was the last thing I needed. Flashbacks of my abusive homes started flying around in my head like a whirlwind.

They always started with screaming. Then came the beatings. Horrible, brutal beatings that broke bones and left marks that sometimes didn't fade for months. _You're just a piece of shit, _they'd scream, _Nobody could ever love you._ My body ached from blows that I knew weren't coming. I leaned forward and vomited into the grass.

"Alice!" Dean called. I didn't want to deal with him right now. My next breath came out as a loud sob accompanied by more puking. Instantly, I heard footsteps running towards me. He was calling my name again.

When Dean finally reached me, my stomach was almost empty and I was now dry heaving in between quick gasps. He placed a hand in between my shoulder blades and started rubbing gentle circles, asking me over and over again what was wrong.

I couldn't answer. Hell, I couldn't even breathe. My breaths came in gasps punctuated by retching and dry heaving. It felt like my lungs were on fire.

He switched into command mode, "Alright, Alice, I need you to calm down, okay? Focus on my voice and take deep breaths. Okay? In and out, just in and out, can you do that for me?"

A very large part of me wanted to tell him to fuck off. He was the one who had triggered this. But I didn't want him to leave. If he left, I'd have to deal with this all on my own, and that scared me more than having Dean around.

I threw up again. Dean was still telling me to breathe slowly and deeply. He didn't get it. I was trying. I couldn't do it. It felt like the world was collapsing in on me and there was nothing that anyone could do about it. My fingers were numb, spots danced in my vision and I started to get dizzy. I knew I was passing out, and I was grateful for it. I couldn't take anymore of this.

Dean's voice got more frantic as I got weaker, until he was shouting at me again. But I didn't care. I just let sweet unconsciousness take over me until I felt myself go limp in his arms.

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><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

I've seen panic attacks before. Sam's had them, I've had them, hell I'm pretty sure even Dad had a few when he was alive. From what I knew of them before, the physical symptoms are mild. There was no puking or passing out or even breathing that fast for that long. And, honestly, they've never scared me. They were just something that you had to ride out until they decided to let go of you.

Alice scared me. I found her curled up in the woods, breathing faster than I'd ever seen someone breathe and puking her guts up. It didn't matter that I tried to help her calm down; it kept its hold on her until she passed out and there was nothing I could do.

_I triggered this. _It wasn't an idea, it was a fact. I knew she'd been abused. I knew that she had been traumatized and I knew how beatings worked. They always started shouting. God, how could I have been so _stupid_? I had been so focused on what she had done wrong that I hadn't even considered how innocent it was. She didn't know that there was anything weird going on in this city. She thought I was fixing a damn car.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Sam asked from the shotgun seat as I laid Alice down in the back.

"Panic attack."

"What triggered it?"

"I don't know. Probably nothing," I lied. I already felt bad enough, no reason to give Sam the chance to go after me for it.

The drive back was silent, me clenching the steering wheel until my knuckles were white and Sam giving me puppy eyes. When we got back to the room, I put Alice to bed and stepped into a cold shower to try and clear my head.

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><p><strong>Alice's POV<strong>

_Go to sleep, _a raspy voice whispered. I bolted up with a gasp, trying to figure out were I was. Sam appeared beside me.

"It's okay, Alice, you're safe. Nobody's gonna hurt you," he assured me, "lay down and get some rest."

"No, I'm fine."

"Alice, Dean's been worried sick. He was going to take you to a hospital if you didn't wake up soon. Just get some sleep,"he said, gently pushing me back onto the bed.

I freaked out, "NO!" Sam jerked back, "I know it sounds crazy, but I _can't _go to sleep."

His eyebrows crinkled, "Ali, Dean's not going to hurt you, and I swear I'm not either. You don't have to be afraid of us."

"No, you don't get it. I can't go to sleep because there have been whispers telling me to do that all day. I know it sounds crazy, but it's really scaring me and I don't trust that nothing's gonna happen," I blurted out. Great, now he was going to think I was crazy, and he was probably right. Normal people did not hear voices.

Sam got up and threw open the bathroom door, "Dean, it's after her," the water turned off and Dean emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist. I laid back and buried my face in the pillows while he got dressed.

About two minutes later, Sam was sitting next to me on the bed while Dean paced nervously around the room.

"What did you mean when you say 'it's after me?' What is 'it'?" I asked. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Look, I need you to tell me exactly what you heard. It doesn't matter how crazy it sounds," he said.

"I heard a whisper telling me to 'go to sleep' a few times. That was it."

"How many is a few?" Sam asked gently. I told them how many times and he exchanged a disturbingly meaningful look with Dean, who leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.

Sam gave me his dewy-puppy eyes, "Was there anything else? A strange feeling, seeing something weird, anything at all?"

"Yeah, I drew a picture of a creepy guy and it scared me. Do either of you want to tell me what's going on? What are you hiding from me? What's after me?" I demanded. Dean looked pained.

"Please, Ali. I just need you to trust me. Can you do that?" he pleaded.

"No," I snapped, "I don't just trust people. You're going to have to give me a little more to go on than this."

Sam scrubbed a hand across his face, "Alice, trust me. You _really _don't want to know."

I stood up and grabbed my backpack, "Then we have nothing left to discuss. I don't deal with secrets anymore. I've seen them get too many people killed for that," I said from the doorway.

Dean crossed the room in two long strides and gently grabbed my hand. I could tell he was worried about setting off another panic attack. He almost whispered, "Come back inside. I'll tell you everything."

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><p><strong>Sam's POV<strong>

Alice took the "the truth is out there" speech surprisingly well. She didn't freak out or call us crazy or anything really. What surprised me was the number of questions she asked. They didn't seem like she was looking for proof; she seemed genuinely interested in the answers. Explaining everything to her took a good twenty minutes, but we were just glad that she didn't think we were nuts.

Eventually, though, we had to breach the topic of something being after her. Alice was a little upset when she found out that we didn't know what was after her yet, but that probably boiled down to being scared. Who wouldn't be?

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><p><strong>Alice's POV<strong>

I can't say I was surprised when Sam and Dean told me about the supernatural. People see things when they're on the streets. They know things that nobody else knows because there's really nobody to listen. I saw a man pull off his skin when I was fourteen. At first I figured he was on one of those acid trips where they think that there are bugs crawling under their skin, but then I saw new skin underneath the one he'd pulled off. It was of a different colour and complexion, and even the shape was different. Dean told me that it was a monster called a shapeshifter.

Yeah, I was annoyed with them. They'd lied to me about why we were here and about a lot of other parts of their lives. But I also understood why. The existence of the supernatural wasn't exactly common knowledge. Most people probably would've freaked out and called them crazy.

Hell, I almost did. I wanted to. I wanted to run out the door screaming that they had both lost their minds. I wanted to take off and never see these guys again, but I couldn't discount the things that I'd heard my whole life.

We talked about everything monster related until I was left with one burning question.

"Why is this thing chasing me?" I finally asked.

Sam shook his head, "We don't know. We found a link between the four victims: they were all virgins."

I bowed my head in embarrassment, "That's not how it's picking its targets. Did they have anything else in common?"

They both sat there for a moment in shocked silence before Dean finally cleared his throat, "Not really. They went to different schools, had different eye colours, different body types, different test scores."

"Were there any similarities between the classes they took?" Dean started shuffling through a pile of papers before shaking his head again.

So there wasn't much similarity between his victims aside from them being teenage girls, but the youngest was an obese thirteen-year-old and the oldest was a seriously underweight and nineteen. There was just no connection between us.

I headed into the bathroom and started the shower. Dean knocked before I started to undress and told me to leave the door unlocked, just in case. I stepped into the warm water and immediately felt some of my tension melt. After about three seconds, I started to feel a presence in the room. It felt cold, like someone was jamming ice against my spine.

When the curtain was drawn back, it wasn't a slow movement like the ones that ghosts make in the movies. It was sudden and quick, and when I looked to see who had drawn it back, I found the man from my drawing. Everything was there, from the black hair to the wide eyes to the bloody smile carved into his face.

For a second, I didn't know what to do. He, _it, _just stood there staring at me with his head cocked while I started backing as far away from it as I could. Then it raised its arm and moved towards me, revealing a short blade. I did the only thing I _could _do. I started screaming.

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><p><strong>Yes, I know. It's my first day back and I'm already leaving you guys with a cliffie. I'm evil.<strong>

**I wrote 90% of this at about two in the morning, so forgive the lack of originality in our monster-of-the-week. I just ****_really_**** didn't want to do vampires. Partly because the brothers originally thought vamps were extinct and now it's like BOOM! BLOODSUCKERS EVERYWHERE! But, I digress.**

**PSA time: I have good news and bad news. Which do you wanna hear first? Actually I don't really care. You can read them in whatever order you want.**

**Good news: All the trips and camps and such are now over. I had a great time, but now I have to settle down for the school year.**

**Bad news: ****_*Staples commercial voice*_**** Back to school is now! That means losing pencils, heavy backpacks and lots of homework! Side effects of homework include no time, no energy and less frequent updates.**

**Sadly, updates are no longer going to be every day. I know my limits, guys, and I can't crank out chapters and homework at the same time. I am going to be making a serious effort, though, to get chapters out at least twice a week.**

**Alright then, lovies. That was a very long note I wrote there. As always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review. Reviews make me happier than a goldfish at a cat's funeral!**


	11. Chapter 11

_For a second, I didn't know what to do. He, it, just stood there staring at me with his head cocked while I started backing as far away from it as I could. Then it raised its arm and moved towards me, revealing a short blade. I did the only thing I could do. I started screaming._

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><p>I sank down in the corner of the shower, squeezing my eyes shut and pulling my knees to my chest. Time slowed down as I braced myself for the pain of a blow. I heard the door swing open and an almost electronic scream followed by the burning stench of bleach.<p>

One of them turned off the water as the other draped a towel around my shoulders. It was almost impressive how in sync they were. I opened my eyes and saw the water by my feet running red. I wasn't bleeding, was I? Someone laid a hand on my shoulder and started talking, but they sounded like they were far away. My eyes started to slide closed. I was getting sleepy, so very sleepy.

_Go to sleep._

My eyelids shot open and I let out a scream. It was coming. It was coming to get me again.

"Alice!" Dean called, shaking my shoulders, "Snap out of it, kid! You're safe now. It's not gonna getcha."

I was still curled up in the shower. Dean was on his knees beside me trying to pull me up out of the tub. My arm was starting to burn. I glanced down at it, seeing an angry gash on my forearm. It wasn't the worst I'd ever had, but it would need stitches.

"Don't worry, it ain't that bad," Dean muttered. He was reassuring himself more than he was reassuring me, "Can you stand?"

I pulled the towel closed around my chest before hauling myself up against the shower wall. Sam helped me over the edge of the tub while Dean awkwardly looked away.

"Oh, calm down," I blurted out, "It's not like there's anything visible that you haven't seen before," I was talking about when we'd worked on the Mustang for hours half naked, but obviously he didn't put that together because he flushed red as a tomato. Sam chuckled at his brother's embarrassment.

What followed was the discomfort of completely un-numbed stitches. Five of them. I didn't cry or anything, but Dean had to make Sam sew me up. He just left, the fucking baby. Sam, on the other hand, didn't even look away for a second.

The whole time he was stitching the wound, Sam worked to distract me from the pain. Which meant that he tried to force a conversation.

"You know, Ali, Dean's been happier since you showed up," he said, pulling the third stitch shut while I winced.

"Yeah?" I hissed through gritted teeth, "He doesn't seem all that smiley."

"That's just because he's trying to maintain his tough-guy image. Truth is you've already got him wrapped around your finger and you don't even know it," the suturing needle poked back into the sensitive flesh.

I changed the subject, "Is this monster the reason that he got so mad that I left the room?" Sam nodded, "Why didn't you guys just leave me at Bobby's house then?"

He sucked in a breath, "Because that's what our dad used to do," I glanced over at him for a further explanation, "Our dad wasn't exactly Father of the Year. He used to ditch us all the time to go hunting, leaving Dean to take care of us. When he was around, he liked to drink until he passed out. Dean doesn't talk about what Dad did when he was drunk, but it messed him up pretty bad."

My mind was reeling. Dean's father had been an asshole, a lot like some of the people I had been to. That was how he knew what to say to me, because maybe he really _did _understand what I had gone through and how it had affected me.

Sam pulled the last stitch closed and started to tie it off, "I think he's afraid of turning into our father," he added, almost as an afterthought. Then he cleaned the wound again and wrapped it in bandages, "Get some rest," he ordered.

I thought about what he had said as my eyes slid shut. Dean and I were going to have to have a serious chat in the morning.

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><p><strong>Hey, guys... This was an insanely short chapter, I know. And I am so sorry about that. I'm just really tired from classes and so far this school year is going pretty shitty. Don't spread rumours about people, guys. Even if they're just for fun, there are a lot of people that will take them seriously. <strong>

**Anyway, a little PSA: Even though I haven't been able to get up the motivation to work much on this wonderful story, there have been a couple of fluffy oneshot daughterfics that I've written to cheer myself up. I published the first one last night, which had Dean and a baby girl, so please check that out if you get the chance.**

**Also, I'm on Tumblr now! I've posted a couple of things there for this story: My character file for Alice (there's some stuff there that I haven't written here yet) and a picture of the monster. It isn't very active yet, but hopefully as I become more internet savvy it will. Check it out at blog/chillywinterbreeze**

**Don't forget to favourite, follow and review! Reviews make me happier than a (asks brother for a happier-than.. listens.. types his answer) narwhal in a sandwich.**

**I'm running low on the happier-thans, so they're just going to get weirder from here.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Dean's POV**

I was a little embarrassed about having to take off when Sam stitched Ali up, but I really couldn't watch the kid in pain like that. When I got back, she was curled up in bed, sleeping. Sam was cleaning the blood out of the bathroom floor, the suturing supplies sitting forgotten on the table.

After standing in the doorway for a good two minutes, I started taking care of the medical supplies, just in case someone walked past our window at the wrong moment. I stared at the bloodstains on a rag. God, this was all my fault. Alice would've never gotten hurt if she'd never come here. I was the reason all of this was happening.

Sam came out of the bathroom and smiled sympathetically when he saw me staring at the bloody cloth, "It looks worse than it was. I was expecting her to cry or something, but she barely flinched. She's a tough kid," he assured me.

"This is my fault," I answered simply, chucking the soiled supplies into the garbage. Sam sighed, "Dean, this thing isn't targeting her because of you. It's after her because of something about her. Something in her past, an insecurity, a secret, a trait, a dream, the list goes on. It has nothing to do with you."

"But somewhere in that list is the possibility that it's targeting girls with absent fathers, Sam. It could be after her because I wasn't there, or because of the things that she may have had to do to survive. And if it is, that's on me," I exploded. Sam shushed me, glancing over at Alice's sleeping form. She stirred slightly and hummed in her sleep, but she didn't wake up.

Sam's voice dropped to a whisper, "Dean I know how you feel, and trust me I feel just as guilty when I see her struggling, but we can't go back and change it. She had a tough childhood without us. The best thing we can do for her is make damn sure that it only gets better from here," he paused, waiting for me to agree. Instead, my shoulders slumped.

"We were right here," I admitted. Right then, I wanted to slap myself in the face; I sounded pathetic, "We were right here when it came after her, and I couldn't protect her."

Sam hung his head and stared at me with dewy eyes, "I know."

* * *

><p>We didn't talk after that. Sam decided to take the couch tonight and passed out without even taking off his shoes. I thought about taking them off for him but managed to talk myself out of it. We're too old for that crap.<p>

I headed into the bathroom to get ready for bed and noticed a little smear of blood on the shower wall that Sam had missed. While I cleaned it up, my mind raced. _What Is this thing? Why does it keep telling Alice to "go to sleep"? How is it choosing its victims? When will it attack again?_

_How do I keep her safe?_

When I woke up the next morning, Alice was still asleep. That was weird, she didn't seem to ever sleep past 6:30. I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes before heading over to wake Ali up.

I touched her shoulder to shake her awake but jerked my hand back in surprise. Heat was radiating off her like a furnace and she was clammy with sweat. I turned her over so that I could see her face. She was pale, so much so that she almost blended in with the sheets, her eyes were sunken in and surrounded by dark circles and her cheekbones were highlighted by red blotches of fever. I took her pulse, which was rapid and erratic, and her breathing, which was the same. Long story short: this wasn't the flu.

Sam came out of the bathroom with wet hair, "Is she still sleeping?" he asked casually, grabbing a shirt from his duffel.

"I think she's sick," I answered, still examining Alice's condition. I lifted up her injured arm and gingerly unwrapped the wound.

The veins around the gash were swollen and a deep purple colour. The skin was a good few degrees hotter than the rest of her body, "More like poisoned," I thought aloud, heart sinking. It was more than likely that when our neighbourhood Joker had knifed her, he'd put some kind of supernatural crap into her blood.

If that was true, then this was going to be ten times worse than anything Ali'd ever caught in her entire life. And we wouldn't have long to get the son of a bitch before it killed her. Sam came over and checked her over too, nodding in agreement.

"Well, now we have to make a choice. We can call Bobby to keep an eye on her while we go gank the fucker. Or one of us can stay here while the other takes care of the case," his eyebrows knit together, "Personally I think it'd be best to leave Bobby out of this for now, but it's your call."

He was right about leaving Bobby out. That old man would hit the roof if he found out that Ali had gotten hurt within two days of our first hunt with her. I sighed, "You go hunt the bitch. I'll stay here with Ali."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. God, those things had a language of their own, "Dean, you sure? Normally you're itching to get out and hunt."

I shook my head and grinned, "Nah, you're better with witnesses. I've been told I'm a dick."

* * *

><p>Sam came back once before going out to work on the case. He brought supplies: medicine, soup, crackers, a thermometre and a couple of books (I don't know what he thought I was gonna do with <em>books. <em>I don't read). Then he took off and it was just me and the kid.

After unpacking the cans of soup and putting one on the camping stove, I started poking Ali awake. She wasn't happy about that.

"Why are you poking my face?" she groaned, starting to prop herself up on her elbows. She shivered against the air and coughed, "I think I might be sick."

"Yeah, no kidding. How are you feeling?"

She rubbed her eyes, "Not so hot," she mumbled, words slightly slurred, "freezing actually. And my arm burns like a bitch."

"Lemme see," I said, taking her forearm in my own and looking down at the ghastly wound. After a couple seconds, Ali rolled her eyes.

"Jeez, Dean, I'm not gonna break," she jerked her arm away as a fit of coughing shook her body, then put it back in my hand, "On second thought, be gentle. That hurt."

Strangely, it looked a bit more inflamed than it had when Sam left. I made a mental note to keep an eye on it.

I got up and stirred the now boiling soup before dumping it into a bowl and trying to get Ali to go eat. She really didn't want to move, but eventually I got her to pull on a sweatshirt and sit down at the table. When she looked down at the bowl of tomato rice soup and her mouth quirked into a sad smile.

"I had a mom who would make this when I got sick," she remarked. I stared at her for a moment.

"That's what my mom would make me when I was a kid. Now it's just a thing that me and Sammy do," I clenched a fist a few times.

Ali sat back and folded her hands on the table, "What was she like? If you don't mind me asking."

"She was beautiful," I answered, ignoring her anxious backpedalling, "She used to wear this perfume that smelled like flowers. I could only really smell it when she picked me up; I was still small enough that she could still do that," I trailed off, not really wanting to talk about her anymore.

"Your mother sounds like she was a good woman," Ali said with a sympathetic smile. She rested her chin on her palm, "Kate, the woman who used to make me soup, she loved music. I was in a phase where I was damaged and angry at the world. My fourth day there, I pushed her turntable out a window. It shattered. When she found it, I was expecting for her to hit me or put me in a cold shower, but she brought me over to a piano, looked me square in the eye and said, 'Alice, you're angry and you need a way to show that. Breaking everything isn't a healthy way to vent, it'll only make it worse.' And she taught me how to play."

It was surprising to see Ali share something so personal about her life. She was normally so secretive about her past. This was probably the fever talking more than anything; her words were still slurring like she was drunk.

Just then, Ali doubled over in a fit of coughing that left her with a smear of blood on her hand. _Dammit, Sam, _I thought as she went to get cleaned up, _We gotta figure this out before this gets any worse._

* * *

><p><strong>*Grins evilly* I have been planning this for quite awhile. Still trying to work out a couple of kinks on the monster, but so far things are going swimmingly.<strong>

**Things are still not going well at school. People typically suck. So, my darlings, please expect to see (a) crazy dark chapters in which I toy with these lovely characters, (b) crazy happy chapters where I try to cheer myself up, or (c) one of those two in a oneshot.**

**Also, I'm on Tumblr! If you get a minute, I have a blog dedicated solely to my fanfiction account at blog/chillywinterbreeze. It's fairly new, so right now there's a character file for Alice and a pic of the monster, but if I get a few followers I'll post a few more things about Wayward Child and any other stories I'm working on. **

**As always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review. Reviews make me happier than a (asks brother again...) a *shakes head and giggles* snail in a microwave.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Dean's POV**

"You got anything yet?" I asked Sam for the third time in two hours, "Ali's gettin' worse faster than I can keep up."

I could hear him sigh from the other end, "Asking so often isn't helping much, is it? But yeah, I did find something. All four victims had the same wound on their arm as Ali, and their families all said that they'd been sick for a couple of days before they were gutted. The only thing I can't get is that, aside from the generic stuff, they all had different symptoms. One had a crazy rash completely covering her body, almost like burns. Another was covered in hives, the third girl's lungs filled with fluid. The last girl almost bled out from a rupture in her uterine artery."

I made a face, "You mean she bled to death from a _period?_"

I could picture Sam shaking his head at me. He cleared his throat, "No, apparently her menstrual cycle started normally, but the coroner said that the artery ruptured a few hours before she was killed. She would've been weak from blood loss."

_Damn, _I thought, _poor kid got hit with a triple whammy. _A thought popped into my head, "Wait a second. Those are all different ways to die: burning, drowning bleeding out."

"What about hives?" he asked, starting to see the pattern I'd caught.

"An allergic reaction. What if all of these girls all saw someone die by accident, and this thing is trying to get some revenge?" I offered, glancing at Ali's sleeping form curled up in the bed. A part of me hoped that I was wrong and that she'd never seen someone die before, but I knew that it was less than likely.

She looked so small and innocent, curled up in a little cocoon like a baby. It was hard to believe that this kid could probably tell you the best spot to sleep if you couldn't find a room or how to escape the cops in a foot chase. How impossible was it, really, that she'd seen someone die in her years in this world?

"Dean? Dean, you still there?" Sam's voice snapped me back into reality, "Seemed like you zoned out for a minute there. Anyway, I'm gonna head to the library and see if I can confirm our hunch. Mind looking into what would go after bystanders?"

I waved my hand, even though I knew he couldn't see me, "Yeah, sure. I've been dying to do something all day. I hate just sitting on my ass."

"You want me to take over?" he offered. I declined and hung up, already opening my laptop.

* * *

><p>It was quiet for about half an hour, until I tried to convince Alice to take some water and medicine. She didn't like that much.<p>

"I'm sleepy, Dean. And I'm not thirsty," she whined. I tried not to roll my eyes, but she sounded like a toddler.

"Your fever is spiking again," I explained as gently as I could, "If it gets any higher, I'm gonna have to stick you in a bathtub full of ice like I used to do with your uncle. You pick: glass of water and Tylenol or ice bath."

She grudgingly took the glass and downed half of it before taking the pills from my hand and downing the rest. Even after it was empty, she still held it upside down to her lips for an extra second, a hint of disappointment colouring her face. Still, she handed me the empty glass without saying anything.

_Still not asking for anything, huh?_ I thought sadly as I refilled the cup and handed it back to her. It was a painful reminder of how far we still had to go. I still had to study her to figure out how she was feeling or what she needed. In the past few days alone, I'd had to learn how her mood changed when she was hungry or scared or pissed off and the ways to tell if something was too intense for her just because I would never know if I didn't catch it.

This time, Ali only drank half the glass before gently pushing it back into my hands and curling back up. I set it on the nightstand, "Don't go back to sleep yet. I have to ask you something."

She groaned and muttered something along the lines of "fucking jackass won't let me sleep" before weakly propping herself back up on her elbows. I ignored the comment about me being a jackass and, without thinking, arranged the pillows behind her so that she could sit up comfortably.

"It's about the case. Sammy and I have a lead, a link between the four victims, but we need you to help us confirm it," I explained.

She shrugged, "What do you wanna know?"

"Have you ever seen someone die?" Ali's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, but you're gonna have to be a bit more specifically on the how."

"Probably an accident."

She looked down at the sheets, "Unless cold counts as an accident, I've only got one or two of those that I've seen."

I placed my hand on top of hers, "I need you to tell me about them," she looked up at me with a mix of horror and mistrust, "Please," I begged.

The word seemed to break her. Her shoulders slumped, "One was a man, maybe thirty years old. He worked construction. It was Chicago, buildings are high, and he fell. The paper said he had a heart attack while he was falling."

"And the other?"

"Her name was Amy," she started, tears already misting up her eyes, "We were nine or ten, living in some house that didn't really give a rat's ass about us. Anyway, Amy was epileptic. She needed her medication, and it ran out. The bastards didn't feel like taking her to get her prescription refilled."

Alice took a shaky breath and clenched her fist into the bedspread, "We were playing at the school after hours. It was just the two of us there. She hit her head and had a seizure and there was nobody there except me and I- I just froze. I just stood there. By the time someone saw us, it was too late. She was already gone."

I sat there in shocked silence for a few moments before clearing my throat, "It wasn't your fault, Ali. You know that, right?" she shrugged. Not knowing what to do, I pulled her into my arms, "It wasn't your fault," I repeated.

She started to cry. Just one, sniffling little sob and a couple tiny wet tears dripping onto my shirt. Soon, she was sobbing into my chest like she had the night I met her, shaking with grief and guilt. I sat there, holding her and stroking her hair, repeating whatever comforting thoughts came to me until her sobs quieted and her tiny form fell limp against me. Then I tucked her into her tiny cocoon and poured myself a drink. My shirt was wet, and I was shaken up, but I knew the connection.

So I sat down at the laptop with a determined look in my eye and started to look for our monster. It was not going to take my daughter from me. That much I knew.

* * *

><p><strong>There's something confusing going on here... I can't find the button that puts the line in. That took some creativity.<strong>

**Hey guys! This was a really fun chapter to write, and I was really happy to finally get to talk about Amy. Alice mentioned her one time in Chapter 2. It's okay if you forgot about her, I almost did and I came up with her. While we're talking about side characters that I kinda forgot about, Tricia's finally coming back next chapter! Or at least, we get to find out what happened to her. **

**Today, we hit 40 followers! Damn.. I was over the moon when I hit 4! Seriously, I used to look at stories with ten followers and think that I would never be able to get that many people to read my stories. Thank you guys so much! **

**In other news, I am on Tumblr! Well, I made a blog for my fanfiction account. It's where I'm putting Character Files (I use them to keep track of my OC's traits and bios) and pics and updates and requests for ideas and a whole bunch of stuff. Check it out at blog/chillywinterbreeze! Hehe I figured out how to put links. Quite an accomplishment for the technologically inept.**

**As always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review! Reviews make me happier than Bugs Bunny at a carrot farm! (I asked my brother, he said a camel in a woodchipper.. i'm gonna quit asking him.) Thanks guys!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Dean's POV**

Finally, after three hours, I came up with a hit. Dropping the laptop on the table, I jumped up and dialed Sam's number.

It rang twice before Sam answered, "What've you got?"

"It's a Darsaka. Apparently they're common in India," I said, changing the cool cloth I'd been keeping on Ali's neck, "It's the soul of a person who died in broad daylight. They develop a twisted sense of justice and begin to seek revenge on those who witnesses of death who had the opportunity to be that person's savior."

I could hear him sigh, "How do we kill it?"

"According to the lore, you have to figure out who they were when they were alive. Then you just have to salt and burn the bones," I explained. Then I added jokingly, "Easy right?"

"Yeah, easy," he muttered, "I'm gonna go look at the town records in the morning, see how many people died in public."

"That's a good idea. I'll see if I can find something too."

Sam hesitated, "How's Ali doing?"

My shoulders slumped, "Not good. You'll see when you get back."

The sickness was moving faster than I could keep up. This morning, it'd just been a fever and a nasty cough. Now, her fever was starting to push 105 and the cough was coming more and more often, leaving her with small handfuls of blood every time. I didn't know how it could get worse tomorrow, but I knew that it would.

Sam got home around twenty minutes later with a couple of shitty burgers from some fast food place. He realized how bad things were the second he walked in the door and saw Ali shivering under a heap of blankets in her bed.

We ate without talking much. Sam asked what I thought her extra symptom was gonna be, and I explained what she'd told me. When I was done, he sat back in his chair with a look in his eye that I recognized well. The one that meant "my brain is working at a million miles an hour and I'm trying really hard to process what you just said."

"You mentioned that she said 'if the cold doesn't count,'" he started. I nodded nervously, "That probably would've been from her time on the streets, huh?"

I shrugged nonchalantly, but inside a large part of me wanted to be sick from the realization washing over me, "Homeless in Chicago, those winters will fucking kill you."

We talked for an hour or so. Then Sammy decided to go to bed. I, instead, checked on Ali for the thousandth time that night. I knew, I was being a paranoid little bitch acting like she's gonna keel over and die if I leave her alone for a full hour, but I barely knew this kid. She had only just started opening up to me, and even though I knew she was tough, I didn't know how she reacted to different symptoms.

Her fever had started to spike again, pushing 105 for the third time that night, and the cloth I'd laid on her forehead was warm through.

"Jesus, kid," I muttered, "This thing really did a number on you, huh?"

Getting a bowl of ice water and a fresh rag, I settled beside her. She shivered when the cold cloth touched her, but she was so weak that the motion was difficult to catch. I left the cloth on her face for a few seconds before dipping it back in the cold water and wiping down her forearms and hands.

Ali didn't like that. She squirmed and groaned and tried desperately to wiggle out of my grasp, but she was weak and my grip didn't waver. I wiped the cloth down her neck and her eyes slid open, "Where 'rewe?" she muttered.

"A motel room," I answered simply, continuing to cool her, "You have a fever."

"Wha'? Where'd we ge' the money f'r a motel room?" Ali slurred. Her eyes looked far away like she was still trying to focus in on me, "You di'n't let Tricia start sellin' again, did you?"

The delirium had apparently set in full swing, to the point that she didn't even know where she was. I didn't want to confuse her right now, so I played along, "No, I didn't. Alice, do you recognize me?"

She nodded once, "Think so.. Yerr Blaze, right? I mean, tha's no' your real name, but I d'n't push f'r it. How'd we get th' money f'r a motel?"

I sighed. Back to that. Rather than tell her the truth (fake credit card), I made something up, "I stole it."

Bad idea. She sat straight up, so fast I flinched, and twisted her fist into my shirt. Her grip was strong, but she kept her voice low and clear, all the slurring gone from it, "Blaze, how many times do I have to tell you? We aren't thieves. It's bad enough that we're a bunch of street rats; that gives us a bad enough name. I don't wanna kick you out, I don't, but half of us are runnin' from something. Myself included. The last thing we need is you bringing the cops down on camp. You make one more infraction, you're gone."

Once I nodded my agreement, she dropped my shirt and fell backwards onto the bed. Clearly, this fever had really fried her brain. She wasn't done with the questions though, "Didya off'r to let in th'others?"

"No."

"We h'd three people fr'ze ta death las' week," she sighed, "Th're's a g'rl named Maria. Fourteen. Pregn'nt. A' leas' get'er s'me food n' ask 'er ta c'me where it's w'rm," I nodded again and she finally closed her eyes. Jeez, Ali could be fucking _intense _sometimes.

It was a long night. Sam made me let him sleep on the couch, but I was still up every two hours checking on Ali and trying to cool her off. And I was bracing for the seizures that we were expecting. I didn't know if I'd be able to handle it when they came.

Sam's had seizures before: when he was coming off the demon blood, when a leviathan clonked him over the head with a crowbar, and a couple of other times. It was scary as hell, and I could barely function when it happened. I didn't know how I was gonna be able to protect Ali if it came that close.

Maybe we should call Bobby. Maybe he was the best one out to give us a hand with this. I mean, he was the best hunter out of all of us, that was for damn sure. And he was the only one out of all of us who could actually keep his head about him if it really came down to it. If Ali started seizing, I'd probably just panic at this point; I was too attached to the kid to see her like that.

**Hello my darlings. I apologize for the somewhat abrupt ending there and the short chapter. I'm not feeling very well today. I'll make it up to you next chapter, okie dokie?**

**Also, I'm on Tumblr now! I know that this is becoming a somewhat redundant part of my author's note, but bear with me. I'm really excited to share my character files and everything with you guys, and there's a lot of stuff that I put on there that doesn't make it into the chapters. Little things, like that Tricia has a tribal flower tattoo on her left shoulder blade. It's not really important to the story, but I think it's cool. Anyway, make sure to check me out at blog/chillywinterbreeze. **

**Another thing: I am taking requests! If there is something that you would like to see, a Daddy Dean moment, another problem with Alice, rainbows shooting out of someone's butt, anything at all. You can leave it in a review, or shoot me a PM, or send me a message on Tumblr. Trust me when I say that I value any and all ideas. I wrote something for a friend once involving the whole of the Superwholock universe getting transported to (wait for it)... Pokemon. Trust me. Anything.**

**As always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review! Reviews make me happier than a baby in a blanket. (My friend gave me that one... he just met his baby cousin.)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Sam's POV**

When I woke up the next morning, Dean was napping on top the bed, but it didn't look like he'd been there long. I checked on Alice and stuck a thermometre into her mouth. It read 105.6, so I grabbed a rag from the bathroom and refilled the bowl on the nightstand with cold water. Dean needed to sleep, and it was only the second day. I still had a little time to take down the Darsaka.

While I dabbed at her face with the cloth, she stirred a bit and a small groan escaped her lips. It was almost cute. But it was weird as fuck seeing Alice, the tough Chicago street kid with homemade tattoos down her back, whimpering like a child at the touch of a little cold water.

This whole thing was weird, though. It'd been weird finding out that Dean even had a kid. I don't know why, considering his habits, but it still was. And, honestly, it brought up a lot of worries and questions for the future. What if there were other kids of Dean's out there? How were we going to take care of Ali with the lifestyle that we lived?

And the biggest one right now: How was she going to survive with us? Dean and I didn't know how to be parents. Well, maybe Dean had an idea of it, but neither of us knew what to do with a girl. Hell, she'd only been with us for a few weeks, and she was already in this state. It was pathetic. We were pathetic.

My head was still spinning with worry and questions. I didn't want Alice to grow up the way Dean and I had, even if she _was _on the streets before she met us. I wanted to make sure she grew up in a stable home that would always have clean sheets and a working shower, not going from shitty motel to shitty motel and almost getting killed half the time. It wasn't fair. Alice deserved more than this. And with this monster going after her, I didn't know how I would be able to handle it.

She was dying. There was no other way to put it. My niece had been with us for less than a month and she was already dying.

"Sam?" Alice whispered, eyes fluttering open, "What're you doing?"

"I'm cooling you down, kiddo."

"D'n't wannit," she mumbled, squirming weakly away from the cloth, "'S c'ld."

"That's kinda the point," I chuckled.

"S'm," she turned over and stared at me with her fever bright eyes, "You hafta kill the 'go to sleep' th'ng. Ev'n aft'r it g'ts me, okay?"

I my breath caught when I realized what she was saying. She didn't care if it killed her. She just wanted to make sure she was the last one.

"Prom'se?" she mumbled again, still waiting for my answer. I nodded slowly, swallowing the lump that had formed in the back of my throat.

"I'm not gonna let it get you, though."

* * *

><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

Sam woke me up before he left. Apparently, he'd brought Ali's fever back down to 104, but somebody needed to be up to keep an eye on her. She was passed out when he left, but she woke up again after about an hour.

Don't get me wrong when I say that Alice could be absolutely hilarious with her delirious ramblings, but it can also become beyond annoying. I think she asked me if we had Jenga blocks two dozen times. When I said no, she would say that we should get some. This repeated again and again and again over the course of an hour until I couldn't stand it anymore and said that we did. After that, she went back to sleep.

After a few minutes of silence, though, I found myself wishing that she would start talking again, just so that I could know that she was still alive. The Darsaka wouldn't let her die until it wanted her to, I knew that, but I was worried. So much so that I spent about half the day feeling sick to my stomach.

My ringtone sounded from between the couch cushions and I pounced on it, answering the call before the second ring had even finished.

"Do you have anything?"

I could hear Sam huff from the other end of the line, "Hello to you too, Dean."

"Sorry. I'm just really worried about Ali."

"I am too. That's why I called: I found the Darsaka. I'll be by with some food and we'll make a plan on how to deal with it."

I glanced over at the clock, which read 1:46, "Sure. Get some soup too for Alice. I haven't been able to get her to eat anything yet today."

* * *

><p>Sam and I were sitting across from each other at the little table with boxes of Chinese food. I'd already managed to get Ali to swallow a few mouthfuls of soup before she fell back asleep. It wasn't as good as I had hoped, but it was better than nothing. She was losing weight fast, and it was starting to show. Bobby was gonna kill me.<p>

"Dean, have you been listening to me at all?" Sam asked, snapping in front of my face a couple times.

"What?" I muttered, blinking to clear my head. He'd been talking? "Sorry, man. What were you saying?"

He stared at me for a second, "Are you feeling okay?"

I nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just worried about Ali is all. She's starting to lose weight," I explained. Sam pursed his lips.

"She'll put it back on once we get this sonofabitch and get her better. Anyway, when I was looking for accidental deaths in this town, I found more than we can sort through in the amount of time we have, so I started getting more specific. All the victims were teenage girls, so I started looking for someone who died in front of a bunch of girls."

"And I'm guessing you found something?" I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

He nodded and pulled an old newspaper clipping out of his bag, "Bethany Johnson, she was fifteen, slipped in the shower at the girls' dormitory at Shepherd's Hill and drowned after she hit her head."

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I stood up and started pacing around the room, "So Bethany dies and, what, decides to get revenge on every teenage girl who's ever seen someone die?"

Sam started fishing around for another paper, "Seems like it. I would've already done the salt-and-burn and been done with it, but I did a little reading on Darsakas. Apparently, they're strong enough that they'll kill whatever tries to take it down without any real trouble. The best opportunity that I'll have to deal with it is when Ali's in the final stages of the disease. That's when it's weakest."

I stopped dead in my tracks and whirled to face him, "You wanna let it go after her so that you'll have an easier time killing it? What the _hell _has gotten into you?"

He stuck his hands up by his face, "I'll have a greater chance at taking the Darsaka down and not getting myself killed in the process while it's using the most energy. That means letting it go after its latest victim.

"We're not talking about a fever or hives, Sam!" I shouted, "We cut it that close, she might never recover!"

"And if I die without killing the monster, she _won't _recover!" he countered.

Ali started to stir a little, letting out a groan, and we both stopped dead in our tracks. I dropped my voice to a whisper, "Sam, I can't let her die, and this plan, Man, this plan is dangling her in front of it like meat on a hook and _letting it attack_. How am I supposed to get on board with this?"

"I dig up the grave in advance and then as soon as it looks like she's getting into those last few seconds before everything goes to hell, you call me. When she starts seizing, I burn the bones. That's it. She'll only be in danger for a few seconds."

I told him to let me think for a minute and went to check on Ali again. Her fever was starting to spike again, and she was shivering violently. _Please let me be doing the right thing, _I silently begged.

"Alright, let's do it."

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so sorry, guys. It has been two weeks since I last updated this story. Do I have excuses? Yes, I have excuses galore, but I'm not going to stick any on here. Next chapter is going to be the last one with the Darsaka, and I hope that I'll finally remember to make good on my promise to bring Tricia back into the picture. It'll also hopefully come out a bit quicker than this one.<strong>

**Now then, onto the ritualistic advertising of my Tumblr page. I have a blog that's pretty much dedicated to my Fanfiction. There are character files, idea requests, and all kinds of good stuff on there, and it'll keep getting more active as I gain followers. Check it out at blog/chillywinterbreeze. **

**As always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review. Reviews make me happier than Winnie the Pooh with a jar full of honey!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Sam's POV**

I could tell that Dean was not happy with this idea. In fact, it'd been a while since I'd seen him this fidgety. He was checking on Ali every couple of minutes and pacing around for the rest of the time.

It was hard to blame him, though. We were about to hit the third day, and Alice looked absolutely awful. She was paler than the sheets, her eyes were sunken in and ringed with dark circles, her lips were cracked, and her breathing was raspy and laboured, like she was trying to breathe underwater. Most worrying, though, was how dark her veins had become.

Dean and I had noticed it the first day: the veins on her arm had turned a purple colour so dark it was almost black. Now it looked like all of them had been infected. They webbed across her skin in an almost disturbing pattern while they pumped poison throughout her body. I looked away.

After grabbing a bite to eat, I took off to head to the somewhat isolated cemetery where Bethany was buried.

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><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

Sam left at about ten thirty. I would've gone with him, but I wasn't in any state of mind right then to be hunting and we both knew it.

This whole parenting thing was so new to me, and I'd already screwed it up. Ali was dying in front of me and I was so friggin anxious about it that I couldn't do shit to help her. And on top of that, I was still in the process of wrapping my head around the fact that I even _had_ a daughter. I mean, it had been like two weeks now and we'd done a lot of getting to know each other, but it still seemed surreal.

If she even survived this, what was I going to do? I couldn't quit hunting, and I couldn't just buy a house and be _normal_. I'd tried that before, and look where it got me. Lisa and Ben almost died and I had to scrub their memories. I didn't want that to happen with Alice.

Then again, I also didn't want this life for her. She'd already been through so much, it wouldn't be right for me to ask her to go through more hell. And I mean that literally; everyone in this family is damned at one point or another. My stomach did a somersault at the thought of her on the rack.

Alice stirred a little and groaned quietly. Sitting down on the bed, I laid a hand on her brow, the same way I'd been doing every ten minutes all day. She was so hot, I almost pulled away.

_Fevers over 105 can cause seizures, _I remembered. Sam had said that earlier tonight. A part of me had wanted to call him a geek and try to maintain some normalcy, but I'd been too worried to do anything but stare. We'd already figured out that she was going to have seizures on the last day, but I really didn't want to see that happen.

My phone buzzed. Snatching it up, I crossed the room and dropped my voice to a whisper, "Sam?"

"Yup. I found Bethany's gravesite, and it isn't pretty. Everything's completely dead around it."

"That's some nasty mojo, Dude, be careful."

"I know. I'm going to do a salt ring before I start digging."

"Will that even work?" I could practically hear Sam shrugging through the phone.

"Maybe, I don't really know. Never tried it before."

* * *

><p>Sam had actually already started digging an hour ago, but he was <em>not<em> telling his overstressed, overprotective brother about that. So far, the salt ring seemed to be working, but that might've only been because he wasn't actively setting the bones on fire just yet.

He really hoped this worked. Dean couldn't lose Ali, not so soon. He'd never forgive himself, and Sam might wind up without a brother. He shook his head, banishing those thoughts. That wasn't going to happen; not under his watch.

Some time later, the shovel hit wood.

_Great, _Sam thought, _now I just have to wait for Dean's signal._

* * *

><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

Ali hadn't seen any change in a few hours, and I was starting to get hopeful that maybe the sickness would pass on its own. Of course, I knew that that was completely crazy to think, but I was desperate.

It was quiet. All morning, it was just quiet. Ali's fever was staying right at 105, which was bad, but not getting worse. She wasn't coughing anymore, and she was less nervous when she was awake. It seemed like things were getting better.

Then she got too still.

* * *

><p><strong>Sam's POV<strong>

Dean called me in a panic, saying that Ali was barely breathing, and I knew it was showtime. I had to time this perfectly. Too early and the Darsaka would cream me. Too late, and Alice wouldn't survive.

* * *

><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

Ali woke up for a second and whispered that her head hurt. Then everything really went to hell.

Her eyes rolled back and her back arched with the first convulsion. Her limbs thrashed violently, I got smacked by an arm a couple times.

"Sam, it's happening!" I shouted into the receiver as I tried to keep some composure about me. Then I saw the Darsaka standing on the other side of the room, staring at us with a grin that I knew would give me nightmares.

* * *

><p><strong>Sam's POV<strong>

I started moving faster than I could process. Jumping out. Salting the grave. Dousing the bones with gasoline. Lighting the whole thing. I watched it blaze in front of me.

I thought I'd done a pretty good job as I listened to the Darsaka scream on the other side. Dean groaned, seemingly in pain.

"Ali?"

* * *

><p>When I made it back to the motel, I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see. I found my brother bleeding on the bed, barely conscious, while Alice laid unmoving on next to him. He was crying.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Hello, darlings!<strong>

**I know, it's been a few days. Okay, it's been a week or two, but I'm still trying. I promise. I'll try not to keep you guys in suspense for too too long, but I'm not making any promises to have the next chapter out tomorrow or anything. I'm actually writing this in order to procrastinate on an essay a bit longer. So I'm going to be busy. *Raises arms to the sky* Damn you homework!**

**I'm not even going to bother advertising my Tumblr. At this point, you guys probably know that it's there and if you want to check it out, go ahead.**

**One more thing: Please, please, please give me prompts! I love prompts. Weird ones, dark ones, fluffy ones, anything you have! They honestly make my writing a lot easier and help me to get out chapters more often for you lovelies!**

**As always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review! Reviews make me happier than a student taking a nap. (I'm really tired. Going to bed now. Love you all!)**


	17. Chapter 17

_I found my brother bleeding on the bed, barely conscious, while Alice laid unmoving on next to him. He was crying._

* * *

><p>One Week Later<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Sam's POV<strong>

I was worried about Dean. He wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping, wasn't even talking, and a small liquor store was accumulating in the Impala's trunk. It was worse than when Dad died.

We didn't burn her. Dean was adamant about that. She wasn't a hunter, she didn't need to go out like one. I thought there might be more to it, but I couldn't bring myself to argue with him right now. So, we laid her down in a little box and buried her on a spot in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere that only we could find her again.

Dean felt guilty, even though he shouldn't. This was my fault and mine alone. If I'd been faster, if I'd been smarter. Hell, I'd gotten him hurt too when he tried to protect her. It could've killed him too.

Bobby didn't know yet. I hadn't had the heart, or the balls, to tell him. We'd taken her with us one time, and we'd gotten her killed. When he did find out, we'd both get throttled. Not that I didn't deserve it, but Dean was already practically destroying himself over this.

I had started going through her things yesterday while Dean was at the bar, but I'd gotten caught up looking at her sketchpad. It was mostly trees and nature scenes, but there were some other things too. Buildings, streets, random little objects that may or may not have meant anything at all. Now I was back to sorting through her clothes, which was somewhat creepy. I hadn't really wanted to know what size bra she wore.

Underneath the clothes, though, were the things that I knew were most precious to her. I found a leather bound diary shoved in the very bottom underneath a stuffed bear. It was old and worn soft, the gold paint scratched from the edges of the pages. A part of me wanted to open it, see the side of her that she hadn't shown us, but I couldn't bring myself to do it just yet.

The bear must've been important to her. One of the eyes had fallen out and I could tell that she'd sewn both of the ears back on at one point or another, but there it was. Sitting there like a trophy underneath everything she didn't mind falling out.

At the very bottom of the bag, though, was a stack of photographs secured by a rubber band. I didn't have to think twice before pulling off the band and flipping over the photo on top. The first one was an official photo, probably from when she'd first been found. Labeled May 30, 1996. She was just a newborn, laid on a scale showing her length (18 inches) and weight (5 pounds 7 ounces). She'd been so tiny and helpless, I couldn't imagine how her mother had managed to just abandon her.

I flipped to the second photo. It was timestamped December 25, 2000. There was little, four-year-old Alice, opening a present with a woman who must've been her foster mom at the time. She looked so happy, all freckles and grins and shiny green eyes. Her hair was a light auburn colour instead of the black that it'd been when we met her, but it was obvious that it was her.

The next one was from 2002. She was smiling (both front teeth missing) playing Jenga with another woman. It was kind of sad to see; every photo was with a different family, some taken only weeks apart. But at the same time, it was amazing. I had a pile of snapshots from her life, and in a way I was watching her grow up.

When I reached the time after she had run away, I had no trouble figuring it out. Her hair, which had been long and light auburn in a photo taken only weeks before, was now black and hastily chopped short. And she had a much different look on her face. Before, she'd been getting steadily more serious as she got older, but now her face was completely blank, impossible to read. It was scary. As I flipped through the last few photos depicting the the last few years of her life, there was one that really caught my eye.

Her hair had grown out, though it looked like she was still dying it, and she looked about the same age she had been when we met. And something was making her laugh. Not full blown, head thrown back laughter, but laughter none the less. That was something that I hadn't seen her really do since I'd met her.

My phone started buzzing and I snatched it up, brushing away tears that I hadn't even realized were there. It was Dean. That was weird. He hadn't spoken in days, "Dean, are you okay?"

"Hi there," a woman was talking, "I just speed dialed "one" and you came up. Are you in Martin?"

"Can I ask why you're calling me from my brother's cell phone?" I snapped. She winced on the other end.

"I'm a waitress at Sue's Place, the bar. This guy, your brother, he just passed out and I don't know what to do with him. He can't stay here, and I can't let him drive once he wakes up. Do you think you could come and get him?"

I agreed with a sigh, and started walking over to Sue's Place. It was only around a ten minute walk from our motel room, and once I got there, it didn't take me long to find Dean slumped over the bar. The girl who'd called me, Jocelyn, was standing next to him, trying to wake him up.

"Sorry for bothering you," she apologized, "I didn't even see him come in. He arrived before my shift started."

"Did he cause any trouble?"

Jocelyn shook her head with a sad smile, "No, he didn't even talk. Didn't look at anyone, didn't talk to anyone. Just sat there with his glass. Must've drained a whole bottle of whiskey on his own."

I nodded, "Yeah. That sounds like Dean."

"Poor guy seemed like he was in a world of hurt. I even caught him cryin' once or twice."

"His daughter," I cleared my throat, banishing the grief that was building up, "My niece, she just passed away."

She placed a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, "Oh my God, I am so sorry."

"Thanks," I pulled out my wallet, placing my other hand on Dean's shoulder, "Anyway, how much do I owe you?"

"I feel bad charging you."

"It's okay, really," she was clearly struggling with it. After a few minutes she finally told me the total (after tacking on a veterans' discount) and I paid it.

It took me a few minutes to get Dean's things back in his pockets and hoist him up, arm slung across my shoulders. I then half carried, half dragged him to the Impala, dropping him into the passenger's seat before fishing his keys from his jacket and driving us home. Once I got him to bed, I went back to looking at Ali's photographs. There was nothing else that really surprised. Just a few shots of people, Alice included, living under a bridge in Chicago. That wasn't really a surprise; I knew she'd been homeless. Even so, I found myself curled up on my bed, crying like a baby.

* * *

><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

I was her father. It was my job to protect her. It was my job, and I failed. Alice was my daughter. She was mine, and she was dead. I was supposed to protect her. I was supposed to keep her safe. I was her father. Oh, God, she was dead.

After she died, I buried my daughter and tried to drown myself in liquor. I just wanted to forget. I needed to forget. So, I drank and I drank until I slipped into darkness.

The Darsaka stabbed me trying to get to Alice. Next thing I rember was Sam standing over me shouting to stay awake. Apparently, he had called an ambulance. I was out for a few blissful hours before they told me that my daughter was dead. I had screamed then. Screamed and fought and ran, until I made it to the morgue. They hadn't put her body into storage yet, so I tore the cover off every one until I found her. She was so pale, all the colour gone from her cheeks and lips. I managed to touch her cheek before they tore me away from her. It was stone cold.

Now I was drinking. Drink after drink after drink. One for every person I couldn't save. Ali, Dad, Sammy twice, Adam, Ellen, Jo, Cas (even if he got brought back), Jessica, Lucas's grandfather, Meg Masters- the girl not the demon, and every other person that had died under my watch. Then I had a couple more drinks for Ali and her mother. Then I started all over again.

Then I was out cold, dreaming of my daughter's death. Again, and again, and again.

* * *

><p><strong>Guys, I promise that I still have many chapters to go in this story. Okie dokie? It isn't done, and Alice is a Winchester. *hint hint, wink wink* I just had a bad week and am taking it out on my lovely characters instead of the people whose necks I really want to wring.<strong>

**As always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review. Reviews make me happier than a scientist who just learned to teleport!**


	18. Chapter 18

_Then I was out cold, dreaming of my daughter's death. Again, and again, and again._

* * *

><p><strong>Sam's POV<strong>

We went to Bobby's house a week after that. Dean still wasn't speaking, so I was the one to break the news to Bobby.

"YOU STUPID FUCKING SONS OF BITCHES!" he bellowed, smashing a bottle against the wall, "Four days she was with you! FOUR DAYS! She came to you looking for a FAMILY and you GOT HER KILLED!"

Dean could hold it together after that, and he folded in half, a loud sob escaping him. That wasn't like him, and it scared both of us so bad that Bobby actually left the room. I didn't know what to do. Dean didn't cry like that. When he did, it was a silent tear or two. He never did _this_. It just wasn't him.

I didn't know what to do or how to comfort him. What was I supposed to say? To do? How do you comfort a grieving father?

"I'm so sorry Dean," I said, laying a hand on his trembling shoulder, "I wish there was something I could do to fix this."

He didn't reply. I didn't expect him to. He just wept, heart wrenching, painful sounding sobs dragging themselves from his chest. I didn't know how to help him, so I pulled him into my arms and held him as he cried. And, eventually, I cried with him.

* * *

><p>Dean fell asleep an hour or so later. Not for long, but when he woke up, he just drank until he passed out. It was so much and so fast, I got worried that he might kill himself. But that's Dean I guess. He never deals with his problems when he can drown them in liquor instead.<p>

I pulled the photo of Ali out of his wallet. I had given it to him a day or two after I found it and he'd tucked it in on his way to the bar. It seemed like that was Dean now: Drink, sleep, vomit, repeat. He'd been so much happier when Alice had been around. Little things had changed that most people wouldn't have even picked up on. Humming random little tunes when he thought no one was looking, smiling more. Now everything had just gone to hell.

* * *

><p><strong>Bobby's POV<strong>

I wasn't really angry with the idjits. It was impossible to be when they were obviously in so much pain. Hell, I don't think I've seen Dean sob like that since he was four or five years old, cryin' for his mother. It broke my heart the first time, and it did just as much the second.

Leaving them to grieve, I went outside and started working on Ali's Mustang. I don't know when I'd decided that it would belong to her, but I had. Now I didn't know what I was going to do with it once it was done. Probably just sell it to some kid, but I damn well wasn't going let her project go unfinished.

I worked on the car for about an hour or so until the need for a drink got to be too much. So I headed over to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of whiskey out of the back of my liquor cabinet. I thought about giving Dean a glass, but when I went to ask him, I found him asleep on the couch. Poor kid looked absolutely miserable; eyebrows scrunched up, tear stains down his cheeks, and that everything-is-my-fault set to his jaw. But I didn't wake him; Sam had told me that he wasn't sleeping much.

After I tossed a blanket over Dean, I headed onto the porch with the bottle and started drinking. I didn't really see a point in getting a glass since I knew I was gonna end up finishing the damn thing anyway. Rough day.

* * *

><p><strong>Sam's POV<strong>

I was upstairs in Bobby's spare room. Dean had pushed me away after about twenty minutes and I hadn't felt the need to stay downstairs. He needed space. I could give him that. So here I was, sitting on the floor with Ali's photos and a couple of her other things.

Her phone started ringing. I didn't react for a minute, I just stared at it. It seemed almost weird to think that Ali had had other people in her life that she was keeping in touch with. Of course, that was a completely douchey thing to think. We hadn't been around for most of her life.

I picked up the phone, cleared my throat and answered.

"You don't sound like Al," said the woman on the other end. I shook my head.

"That's because I'm not. Who are you?"

"I'm Tricia, Al's best friend. Are you Dean?"

"No, I'm Sam," I sighed.

"Oh," she sounded disappointed, "Anyway, is she there? I hung up pretty abruptly last time we talked and I just wanted to let her know that I'm okay and check on her."

Oh, God, was I really gonna have to tell this girl her best friend was dead after four days with us? I _really _didn't want to have to do this, "I'm really sorry, Tricia."

"She's out or something, right? Just tell her to call me when she gets back," the call ended with a click. Part of me wanted to call her right back and give her the news, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Bobby started shouting out front.

* * *

><p><strong>Bobby's POV<strong>

I was halfway through the bottle of whiskey (and still completely fucking sober) when I spotted someone walking up my front path. I set the bottle down and grabbed the shotgun, stalking around to meet the son of a bitch from behind.

Once I was behind 'em, I could tell that whoever I was facing was a woman, about 5'3, with long, light hair trailing down her back.

"Turn around and face me. Any funny business and I blow your damn head off."

She stuck her hands in the air and turned around slowly, staring at me with wild green eyes.

Okay, now I was pissed. It's one thing to come after me; it's a completely different, far worse thing to come after me wearing my dead grandchild, "Who are you?" I demanded. I was gonna give this son of a bitch one chance to explain himself before I kicked his ass.

She- it- looked genuinely hurt, "Bobby, don't you recognize me?" her voice broke at the end.

"Yeah, I recognize your body. Only problem is that the girl it belongs to died two fucking weeks ago, so I'm gonna ask one more time. Who the hell are you?!"

Her eyes widened, "Bobby, I swear it's me. I woke up on top of a grave in the middle of the woods, made it back to Paris and when I found out that Sam and Dean had checked out, I got on a bus to Sioux Falls."

"Like hell it is!" I shouted, snatching up her wrist. She wiggled a little against my grip, but didn't really struggle until I pulled out my knife.

"Bobby wait, it's me! I'm not a monster!" she pleaded.

"We'll see," I dragged the silver blade across her forearm. If it burned, I'd be able to fight this thing. Except it didn't. It just bled two little drops down her arm. Next I dumped holy water on it. Still nothing, "Alice?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, old man," she replied as I pulled her against my chest. I held her there, tight, for a few minutes until she mumbled that she couldn't breathe.

"Bobby, what's going on?" Sam called from behind a car. When he saw us, he stopped dead in his tracks. I reassured him that it really was Alice, and after he'd hugged her a bit too tight for a minute or two, he made her explain what had happened to her.

* * *

><p><strong>Alice's POV<strong>

I had woken up in an open grave surrounded by nothing but woods. I couldn't remember much of anything after the first day in Paris, but based on the gash on my arm and the throbbing in my head, I assumed it couldn't be good.

A guy in a trench coat was standing over the grave. He helped me out and gave me money for food and a bus ticket, saying that I "still have work to do" or whatever. Then he just disappeared. I mean like, literally disappeared. I turned around for a second and he was just gone without a trace. You know the rest.

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><p><strong>Hey guys. I seriously meant to have this out over the weekend, but I got really sick and was laid up with a fever of 104. It's gone down and is finally starting to go back to normal, but I'm still nowhere near 100% yet, so please forgive me if this chapter seems a little choppy. I just really didn't want to leave you guys hangin' for too long. :)<strong>

**As always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review. Reviews make me happier than a kid in a candy shop!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Alice's POV**

Sam kept his arm around my shoulders the whole time he lead me up to the house, flatly refusing to let go of me. It was both adorable and sad, because it was like he was afraid I would disappear. He couldn't have missed me that much.

When we did reach the house, he did let go, placing his hand on the knob and turning to face me, "Alice, I'm just warning you that Dean's not in the best shape right now. Don't judge him for the way we find him."

I shrugged. It couldn't be that bad, could it? I hadn't been there for very long. Just a couple of weeks at the most. Glancing down at the bracelet Dean had given me, I wondered if maybe I was wrong.

Sam opened the door, and I was hit with a wall of dust and whiskey. Someone in this house was drinking heavily. Even more than normal. They led me to the living room, where I saw my father passed out on the couch, a half drunk bottle of whiskey on the floor beside him. My lips formed into a silent "Oh". Grief. This was how Dean grieved.

I didn't know how to react to that. Nobody had ever cared that much about me, at least it hadn't felt like anyone had. Except Tricia and maybe Blaze, but they didn't count. I had never had parents before. Was this what it was like to lose a child? Was it really so bad that you had to drink yourself into oblivion?

Bobby grabbed the bottle off the floor and tossed a blanket over Dean. Then he offered it to me.

"I'm underage," I protested.

"You died and came back. Trust me, Squirt, a couple swallows will do you well," I gave in and took a long pull. It burned in the best possible way as it slid down my throat, giving off a warm feeling once it hit my stomach. After one more pull, I passed back the bottle.

Sam headed into the kitchen, "Dean was pretty devastated when, you know. Don't be surprised if he flips out a little when he wakes up."

"What'd he say?" I watched as he started putting together a couple of sandwiches. I wouldn't admit it, but I was so hungry that my mouth was starting to water a little just from the smell of peanut butter.

He shrugged, "Nothing, really. After we buried you, Dean just stopped talking altogether."

I stared down at my hands, "I'm sorry I put you through that."

"It wasn't your fault," Sam sat down across from me, handing me one of the sandwiches, "Anyway, I'm changing the subject. Your hair looks different."

Honestly, I barely heard him. I was too busy biting into the sandwich he'd given me, but I answered anyway, "This is its natural colour. I had dyed it black before to make me a little less recognizable."

"And you dyed it back?"

I shook my head, "Nope. It was like this when I woke up."

Sam huffed in confusion, and I continued, "There was a man there, but he disappeared after a few minutes."

"A man?"

"He told me that it wasn't my time to die yet and that I still had work to do. I don't know what he meant, though."

"Ali, what did he look like?" Sam leaned forward on his elbows, his brow wrinkled with intensity. I described the man I had seen, and Sam's eyebrows scrunched up.

"Who is he?"

"A friend," he answered quickly, "We haven't seen him in a while. I didn't think he even knew about you."

"I have known of Alice since before her birth," a guttural voice said from behind us. I whirled around to find the man from the gravesite with a slightly offended look on his face, "I was charged with protecting you, your brother and your descendents. It would have been neglectful of my duties if I had allowed myself to be unaware of Alice Winchester's existence."

Sam's expression changed when we heard that, going from confused to pissed, "We knew you for four years before we met her. You couldn't have let us know that Dean had a daughter living on the streets?"

"You wouldn't have believed me," the man said simply. Sam stood up, rage flickering behind his eyes.

"Then you should've made us believe you!"

"Sam," he muttered, frustration evident in his face, "When was I supposed to give you this information? During the apocalypse? When Dean was grieving the death of his brother? When you were without a soul? In Purgatory?"

Sam leaned forward on the table, closing his eyes, "You do have a point. Sorry, Cas."

My mind was working at about a thousand miles an hour trying to process everything I'd just heard. There'd been an apocalypse? When? I couldn't remember any oceans boiling. And Sam had lost his soul? I didn't even know that was possible.

"Hold on, somebody needs to explain all of this to me because I am confused," I said before they could start another conversation.

"Of course," said the man, "My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of the lord. It was I who repaired your body and returned your soul to it."

Don't get me wrong when I say that I didn't linger on that detail very much. I had a million questions about Castiel and all of his angelic-ness, but I didn't have time right now to ask them. I wanted to get all of my confusion out of the way before Dean woke up and started flipping his lid.

Castiel explained about how both Sam and Dean had spent time in Hell at one point or another (which left me completely stunned) and about the apocalypse and about something called a leviathan. I didn't completely understand those, but I didn't ask anymore questions about them. He mentioned Purgatory, but when he did, he got this faraway look in his eye, like he was remembering something painful. So I decided not to press too much.

Every now and again, I stole a glance at my father's sleeping form. He didn't look all that peaceful, but he also didn't look like he was in distress or anything. I know it's repetitive to keep saying it, but the reality of him being my father hit me again. Seeing him in so much pain broke my heart, but it also made me feel wanted for the first time in my life.

What happened if he saw me and decided that he didn't want to keep me anymore? I didn't think I'd be able to return to life on the streets. Yeah, it had had aspects of it that I liked, but I honestly preferred being in a home. The only reason I even left foster care was that it was too dangerous to stay anymore. If I had to go back to either of those lives, whether it meant returning to the streets or going back into the system, I didn't know if I'd survive it this time.

* * *

><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

Who the hell was talking? Couldn't they see that I was trying to sleep? I just lost my daughter. Don't I deserve a little bit of quiet?

Somebody had tossed a blanket over me and now I really didn't want to get up. It was warm here, like it had been when Mom was alive. God, she'd be so disappointed if she could see me now. I break everything I touch. I should've sent Alice away. I shouldn't have been so selfish and kept her close. It would've hurt her, but at least she'd be alive to feel it.

"Dean," I could hear her voice calling me. Maybe I should just die. Then I could go see her and apologize for being such a sorry excuse for a father.

"Dean, wake up," No, Ali. I'm tired. I just want to sleep right now. Then I can forget about you for a while.

Someone hit me over the head with a pillow, "Get up you lazy ass!"

I shot up, ready to pummel whoever had woken me from my nightmare-less sleep, but I what I was faced with stunned the punch right out of me. My next reaction was not a very hunter-ly one. I didn't grab a blade and start slashing at the obvious shapeshifter or demon or whatever. Instead, I cowered as far back into the couch as I could manage and called for my brother.

He was there in an instant, putting a hand on Ali's - no, not Ali, the monster's - shoulder, "It's okay, Dean."

"No, it is not okay. There is a shapeshifter in Bobby's house!" I was panicking a little bit. Partly because I was completely unarmed, partly because I really did not want to fight a monster wearing Alice's face.

Sam shook his head, "She's not a monster, Dean. We ran the tests. It's Alice."

I shook my head, "What?"

"It's me, Dean," she piped up, sitting down beside me and laying her hand over mine, "I'm alive."

Those two words sent me practically over the edge. I pulled her into my arms, burying my face in her hair. In that moment, I didn't care if the sun fell out of the sky. I just needed to know that she was real, that she was really my Alice. My head was working at a million miles an hour trying to figure out how she was here, but I wasn't worried. We could worry about it later.

For now, I had my little girl back.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey, everyone! I have been writing like crazy all weekend, but I couldn't seem to get this the way I wanted it. Plus I have like four tests tomorrow that I was studying for, and I still don't quite have everything down yet. Hehehe, procrastination FTW!<strong>

**Anyway, as usual, don't forget to favourite, follow and review! Reviews make me happier than an intoxicated koala!**

**(just did a bunch of random research on koalas… apparently eucalyptus contains a chemical that makes koalas drunk. I think that's pretty cool.) **


	20. Chapter 20

**Alice's POV**

I don't know how long I sat there, wrapped in Dean's arms. It hit me that this was the first time he'd held me without me being in tears, but it probably wouldn't stay that way forever. I was starting to get misty eyed.

Eventually, Sam cleared his throat and Dean released me with one last stroke of my hair. His eyes were glistening, "I thought I'd lost you."

I shook my head, "I'm not that easy to get rid of."

Sam left to go on a food run a few minutes later, which he informed me would take an hour or two, and Castiel had just disappeared when Dean woke up. So I sat in an awkward silence alone with my slightly-in-shock father.

"What do you remember?" he asked after a little while.

I shrugged, "Not much, honestly. I remember going to Paris with you guys. I had a freak out moment, you told me about the supernatural, got shower-knifed and everything else is hazy. I'm guessing I was sick."

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his lap, "What gave that away?"

I shrugged again, "I have a habit of refusing to eat when I'm not feeling well, and when I woke up I weighed about five pounds less than I remembered."

Dean's gaze dropped to the floor and he started wringing his hands in his lap, "Yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't get you to eat."

The look I gave him was similar to one that I imagine I'd give a fuzzy green alien, "Why the hell are you apologizing to me?"

"Because I didn't take very good care of you when you were sick and you ended up six feet under," he said it like I should have figured this out. So, we had the same argument that we'd had, six times now? I defended that there's nothing he could've done, and he said that there's everything he could've done.

"Where are you going?" he demanded when I started walking out.

"To get Sam."

"What?" clearly he hadn't been paying enough attention, "He's not home yet."

I nodded as slowly as I could, "Yes, he's been idling in the driveway for about twenty minutes." I watched him yank back the curtains and stare out the window. Sure enough there was the Impala, sitting in the driveway.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ugh, he seriously hadn't figured that out yet?

"Because I knew what he was up to and decided to let him do it," I called over my shoulder, swinging the front door open and waving for Sam to come in.

* * *

><p>After we had eaten, Sam timidly handed me a plastic bag. Inside was a t-shirt, jeans and some pajamas. I stared at him, "What's this?"<p>

He cleared his throat, "I donated most of your clothes, and it's too late to take you shopping now. I'll take you in the morning, but you need something until then."

I felt my eyes widen. He'd gotten rid of my clothes? Did that mean that he'd gotten rid of my other stuff too? He hadn't looked through my diary, had he?

Seeing the panicked look on my face, he quickly revised, "I only got rid of your clothes. Your sketchbook and your other things are in my bag."

Okay, so I still had some things for myself. I could manage.

We talked a little. Dean, who had still been drunk all afternoon, was now starting to feel the aftermath of all the liquor he'd had. I decided to turn in about ten minutes into listening to him puke and groan.

Sam came in holding an armful of my stuff, which he slowly placed on my bed, "You don't mind if we keep this, right?" he asked, pulling a photograph out of his pocket. It was about a year old. Blaze had cracked some joke, and I had ended up laughing until there were tears in my eyes.

I nodded, watching as Sam awkwardly perched on the edge of the bed beside me. He let out a sigh and absently rubbed between my shoulder blades, "We really missed you, kid."

Another nod, "I missed you too, and did you happen to keep my yellow shirt?"

He chuckled and shook his head, "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. I was just wondering because it was one of my nicer ones," I explained. He looked so guilty, I regretted asking in the first place.

It was silent for a few minutes. Every so often, Sam would take a deep breath like he wanted to say something, but every time he would just squeeze my knee and sigh.

"We thought we'd lost you," he finally mumbled. "You got so sick so fast, and it was like we couldn't do anything to help you."

"I'm better now, Sam," I promised.

"I know," he shook his head. "But I still should've gotten the thing before it got you."

I rubbed his knee as gently as I could manage, "It's okay."

"No, it's not," he argued, setting his jaw.

"You're just a man. It was too strong. It's okay."

"Yeah, it would've been if that thing had been attacking anyone but my fifteen-year-old niece. It's mine and Dean's job to protect you and we failed miserably," he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head, feeling both guilty and touched by what he was saying, "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

We sat there for another few minutes, chatting about random things. Sam asked if he could keep one of my photographs. It was one of my relatively new ones. I remembered when Tricia snapped it. I had been laughing hysterically at some lame joke that Blaze had cracked and she'd just raised her phone and taken it. It was one of my happier memories from a day when everything had been going right.

I nodded. Letting Sam take that one perfect memory was easy; I knew there were going to be a lot more of those coming up.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello, my darlings. *awkwardly coughs* I am so sorry that I took so long to update (again). Me being me, I have a thousand excuses I could give you. Some are true, some are not. However, I am not going to give any of them aside from the one where I mention that I actually had a chapter ready in half the time it took me to publish it, I simply deleted the whole thing by accident. That one is true.<strong>

**I did, however, have a lot of fun at Halloween. I dressed up as Bloody Mary and scared a guy older than me so bad he almost peed himself. Good times. **

**Anyway, as always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review! Reviews make me happier than Gabriel at Halloween!**


	21. Chapter 21

Sam coughed awkwardly in the driver's seat, "So do you want me to come in with you or should I wait here?"

He'd tried to convince Dean to take me shopping while I was "asleep" last night. I think it was only after he'd decided to do it himself that he realized he was taking a teenage girl shopping. I gave him a smile, "You can do whatever you want." He opted to wait in the car, handing me a wad of cash and the promise that he'd be here when I finished.

I picked out three more shirts, some jeans, and a couple of dresses, along with some underwear and socks. Within an hour, I was back in the car with Sam, who seemed surprised at the amount of change I held out for him to take.

"Keep it," he muttered as he started the engine. There was like a hundred bucks in my hand. It would be wrong of me to take it. But, he ended up just dropping it back in my bag after taking it back. Apparently, he couldn't leave me without money to spend if I wound up alone or in trouble. Silently, I prayed that I would never need to spend it.

The drive back to Bobby's house wasn't like the one to the store, it was neither quiet nor awkward. As it turned out, Sam and I had similar tastes in music. Dean loved classic rock, which was okay, but I was much more of a Regina Spektor kind of girl. Sam didn't seem to care all that much about Dean's "Driver picks the music" rule and let me choose a few songs from his iPod. He did, however, make me promise to never breathe a word about this to Dean as long as I lived. I guess the guy's touchy about his car.

* * *

><p>"Hey Ali, mind going on a food run? I gotta sort something out with your uncle," Dean called. We'd only been home from shopping for twenty minutes or so, and I'd just finished putting away my clothes.<p>

"I can't," I whispered, biting my lip. It wasn't that I didn't want to. Dean had a gorgeous car, and I was dying to drive it, but at the same time I wasn't suicidal.

When I looked up at Dean, he didn't look upset, just confused, "Why not? You got plans?"

I shook my head, and stared at the floor, "I don't know how." It wasn't a big deal, I know, but it was to me. I worked in a chop shop. I knew cars like the back of my hand. I could take them apart in my sleep and put them back together half awake, but put me behind the wheel and I wouldn't know the first thing to do.

Both of them stared silently at me for a solid five minutes before saying anything. After that, Dean was the first one to break the silence, "Aren't you sixteen?"

"Yup," I answered simply, popping the _p._

"Didn't you work in a chop shop?"

"Yup."

"And you really don't know how to drive?"

"Nope."

"Well then," he smiled kindly, "We'll just have to teach you."

* * *

><p>I found out quickly that driving is not nearly as easy as it looks from the backseat. After about twenty minutes, Dean looked almost as terrified as I did, his hand hovering next to the parking break almost nonstop.<p>

"Alice, you have to push in the clutch. Every time," he reminded me for about the ten thousandth time. I hadn't driven into a ditch or hit anything, so I didn't understand why he was so nervous. The car just kept stalling. I mean, it wasn't great for the engine, but it could've been worse.

"We could stop if you want. I'm not that desperate," I offered. Dean shook his head.

"No kid of mine is gonna go through life not knowing how to drive. Now come on, we're gonna try again."

Eventually, I got it right and the two of us drove down to Sioux Falls to get dinner for everyone. Well, I drove and Dean caught his breath. Apparently teaching someone to drive is traumatic.

* * *

><p>We left to go on a hunt two days after. Sam and Dean seemed really happy that I could drive now about ten hours in when I offered to take over so that they could sleep for awhile. A few minutes after I took over, they were asleep, Dean in the passenger's seat and Sam in the back, Dido's <em>Life For Rent <em>playing softly from the cassette player. I hoped Dean wouldn't mind if I added it to the collection under the seat.

I drove half the night without stopping before my eyes started to get droopy and I told Dean that we were stopping in at a motel. Honestly, I don't think that they even processed the fact that we weren't at a motel yet.

Even though I went to sleep on a couch, I woke up in the bed by the door. I guess Dean swapped with me in the middle of the night. He seemed to think that I couldn't handle sleeping on a couch (based on the fact that he'd done this a few times), which bothered me, but I decided not to push it.

The guys woke up not long after I did, and we agreed to go to the diner down the street. Sam and I got ready fairly quickly, and normally, and I sat down on the edge of the bed with my sketchbook while I waited. Dean would've been done a lot faster if he had just turned off the damn radio, but like the bed thing, I decided to leave it alone. Best not to piss him off.

I drew the line when he stuck his dirty boot on the mattress to tie it. Turning around quickly, I shot him a disgusted look, "C'mon, Dean that's disgusting!"

"What?"

I waved my hand at the mattress, "Shoes don't go on the bed. Like ever. It's gross and someone has to clean that up."

"It is pretty gross," Sam called from over by the mirror where he was doing some kind of preening.

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but this time he was cut off by a guy falling out of our closet. Yes, you heard that right. He fell out of our closet wearing an outfit that looked like it came out of the fifties.

The four of us stayed in a shocked silence for a moment, when Mystery Man decided to break it, "Which one of you is John Winchester?"

* * *

><p><strong>Helloooo, my lovelies!<strong>

**I apologize once again for not putting up a chapter sooner. The universe threw us many curveballs all at once including power outages, illnesses, injuries, and a massive storm all in the same week. Then my friend passed away in a car accident and I didn't really feel like writing much. I'm back, though, and I'm trying something new! I've never written a story that followed the canon specifically, so this may or may not go the way I'm hoping it does. **

**Good news is that the structure will probably help me get the next chapter out a lot faster. Bad news is that there's a chance that it will end up painfully boring. If it does, please inform me so that I can never do it again. **

**As usual, don't forget to favourite, follow and review! Reviews make me happier than a ladybug on a cucumber stalk!**


	22. Chapter 22

"_Which one of you is John Winchester?"_

Dean stepped in front of me, holding an arm out to pull me further behind him. Mystery Man's eyes darted between the boys, and when he spoke again, his voice was almost pleading, "Please, time is of the essence! Which of you is John Winchester?"

Dean stayed silent, still gently holding me behind him. It was Sam who answered the man's questions, "Neither."

His reaction was instant, as if he'd been dreading this since he saw us. He started wringing his hands and mumbling to himself, occasionally glancing back at the closet. Peeking out from behind Dean's back, I finally spoke up, "Who the hell are you, mister?"

Dean shushed me at the same time as the man waved off my question, "Not now, Miss, I'm thinking."

The next thing I knew, Dean was slamming the guy against the wall, and the man was trying to reason with him. Apparently, this counted as violence, but handcuffing my father and uncle to a chair did not. I followed him out into the parking lot.

"Hey, jackass!" he turned to me with a shocked expression, his elbow still out to smash the Impala's window.

"That is not the sort of language for a young lady to be using! Now, go run along and leave the men to do their work."

I scoffed at his sexism, "What are you from the fifties? I can say whatever the hell I want. Now step away from the car or I'll start screaming."

The nerve of this guy, he actually laughed at me. Apparently, even if I did, they'd no doubt believe him over me. I was stunned, but him taking the time to "educate" me or whatever gave Dean time to get outside and point his gun at the stranger. Sam patted my shoulder and opened the passenger's side door.

The man sighed, sticking his hands up by his face, "Yours, I presume?"

* * *

><p>They ran tests on him, just like Bobby had done with me when I came back from the dead. He passed every one, laughing when they splashed him with holy water. I didn't like stepping back and staying quiet, but Dean had insisted that I get involved as little as possible, saying that it would be really bad if I pissed off the right kind of monster. I wasn't arguing. I was still trying to put weight back on from my run-in with the Darsaka.<p>

"I'm quite certain this is all beyond your understanding, my alpha-male monkey friend, and violence will not help you comprehend it any easier," Dean was used to being insulted, I guess, because he barely flinched, but I was fuming. This pig didn't get it. He wasn't _allowed_ to insult my father. If Dean didn't shoot him, I probably would.

When I looked up again, Dean had the asshole by the jacket, holding his pistol against the man's chest, "Lemme tell you what I understand!" His tone was angry and forceful, like he was more than ready to pummel the guy. "Some asshat pops out of my closet asking about my dad, smashes up my ride. Remind me why I'm not getting violent?"

The closet started glowing again, and rattling. I reached down and pulled the knife I kept in my boot out, holding it protectively out in front of me. A pretty redheaded woman stepped out, also wearing clothes from the fifties. She smirked, sending shivers down my spine, "Silly man, you forgot to lock the door. But then, spells never were your best subject, were they? Why don't you be a doll and give me what I want and I promise to kill you and your friends quickly."

Okay, it was confirmed. The man came here to keep something from the red headed psycho here. Which meant that she, whoever she was, was worse news than him. As she raised her hands, my dad and Sam were flung backwards into the wall, but for some reason she didn't do anything to me, the chick with the knife. I took advantage of that, sending the blade flying into her chest.

Bad idea. All it did was piss her off. Laughing, she pulled my knife out of herself, and flung it back at my head. When I ducked, she sent me flying into the wall. Hard. The last thing I saw was Sam rushing towards me and Dean stabbing the bitch.

* * *

><p>I woke up slumped against Dean's shoulder while he was trying to drive us as far from the motel as quickly as possible. Groaning, I tried to sit up, but ended up just turning my head against his shoulder.<p>

"Look who's up," Dean chuckled, "You feeling okay?"

"Head h'rts," I slurred, "S'rry for passing out."

He reached down and gently squeezed my knee, "It's okay, kiddo.. That bitch threw you pretty hard. You've probably got a concussion."

I guess Mystery Man joined us in our getaway, because he spoke up from the backseat, "Sir, I really must protest using that sort of language in front of a young lady. They really are too delicate for that kind of thing."

"Sexist pig," I mumbled weakly. Dean patted my knee gently before replying to him, "First of all, believe me, she's anything but delicate. Second of all, I'll talk to my daughter any way I damn well please and you don't get to 'protest' shit."

Dean pulled over a few minutes later to let the asshole get out and puke and Sam helped me out of the car, steadying me when a wave of dizziness washed over me and squeezing my shoulder in comfort. Mystery Man was still puking, saying that he enjoyed adventures "of a literary nature". Stuck up prick couldn't just say that he liked reading?

My brain was foggy, and everything sounded far away, but I did catch snippets of the conversation. The guy _was _from the fifties, from a place called Normal, which I thought was ironic. And, apparently, he was John Winchester's father.

* * *

><p>I sat next to John's father. He still hadn't told me his name, and I seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Most of the pain in my head had faded, now it was just nerves. For the first time, I was really wondering about my grandfather. I knew that he'd been a hunter, and that he'd been a drunk, but I could never get Sam or Dean to say anything more than that.<p>

"What's your son like?" I whispered, peeking at the photograph he was staring at. He looked up. "Did you say something?"

I nodded, gathering a bit more courage, and repeated my question a little louder. He smiled at the photograph, eyes shining with pride. "John is everything I could ask for. He's kind, he does well in school, does well on the baseball team. He's a little hot tempered, but no matter how angry something makes him, if he cares about it at all, he'll find a way to make it right."

_Dean doesn't talk about what he did when he was drunk, but it messed him up pretty bad. _That's what Sam had told me about John. I had pictured him with horns, and it was hard to imagine a cute little boy in his place.

Sam handed me a plate of french fries and I squirted a massive glob of ketchup on the corner of the plate, sticking my tongue out a little through my teeth in concentration. Dean chuckled and shook his head, but John's father was staring at me with a somewhat horrified expression. I didn't care. The fries were good.

"So how are you?"

John's father shook his head, "I'll be fine. After all, despite everything, I've just met my grandchildren, haven't I? Henry Winchester. It's a pleasure." He shook Sam's hand and made to do the same thing with Dean, but Dean rejected it. After a bitchface, Sam introduced us. I was busy with my fries, so I just waved.

"Well, this has been touching. How about we figure out how to clean up your mess, huh?" Dean reminded, glaring at Henry. I didn't get why he was being so rude. Yeah, the guy was a sexist, but everyone was in the fifties. I didn't understand what he'd done wrong.

"Abbadon. Yes. She must be stopped," Henry agreed.

"How come she didn't die when I stabbed her?" Dean asked. Probably for the same reason she was okay when I did.

Henry leaned forward, speaking like we were high schoolers who didn't know 2+2, "Because demons can't be killed by run-of-the-mill cutlery. At the very least, you'd need an ancient demon-killing knife of the Kurds." Without missing a beat, Dean was pulling his knife out of his jacket and saying that's what his blade was.

"Well it would've been nice to know that before I threw my favourite knife at the bitch!" I exclaimed, turning to Henry. "Seriously, why didn't you tell us that you had a demon on your ass when they started throwing holy water on your face?"

"I didn't think you'd know about demons. I thought the spell didn't work properly," he explained.

After that, I kind of got lost in my thoughts. My boot felt empty without the familiar pressure against my ankle. I wasn't exaggerating when I said that was my favourite knife. Tricia had stolen it when we'd first started out on the streets. It had been her first time stealing anything that mattered and actually getting away with it. That stupid knife had stayed in my boot (or my sleeve) for a solid three years, and it had saved my ass on multiple occasions.

I came back to Earth just in time to hear Henry laugh in disbelief, "You're not. Are you? Hunters? Hunters are… hunters are apes. You're supposed to - you're legacies."

I blinked in confusion, "Legacies of what?"

Henry laughed, "Not you, my dear, you're a woman. Only sons can be legacies of the Men of Letters."

I didn't really know what to say. He was from the fifties. I couldn't very well knock his teeth out for being a sexist; to him it was just the way things were.

* * *

><p>The car ride to wherever Henry wanted us to go to was the longest one of my life, and I've been on a lot of car rides. I was sitting as close to my door, balancing a box of pencils on my knee and drawing with my sketchbook propped against the window. Henry kept staring at my drawing.<p>

"You should add some clothes to your lady," he commented.

"That's what she looks like."

"It isn't realistic," he argued.

"It isn't realistic," I echoed as mockingly as I could, fishing the photograph of a very scantily clad Tricia out of my pocket and shoving it in his face. "She's real and she's my best friend."

Dean chuckled in the driver's seat, "Rule number one of living with Alice: Don't question her art."

Henry actually blushed, stammering out an apology for insulting my friend.

By the time he'd collected himself again, I was laughing almost hysterically. Poor guy was as red as a tomato. He'd probably never seen a woman other than his wife wearing that little in his entire life.

Okay, maybe this might be a little fun.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello my darlings! Haha! I'm on time! Don't expect this too often, but I'm trying. Anyway, so far I'm kind of liking writing along the canon, so let me know how you feel about it. <strong>

**As always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review! Reviews make me happier than a fat kid with a wedding cake! (outsourcing again. blame my friend don't blame me.)**


	23. Chapter 23

After the incident with Henry and my drawing he car was quiet for about an hour. Dean sighed, calling me a few times to get my attention.

"How's your head?"

"It's okay. Hurts, and I'm a little foggy, but I can think sort of straight," I assured him.

"I'll get you some Tylenol when we stop for gas," he promised. There was a brief silence before he slammed his palm into the "Dammit, I told you not to get involved with monsters! Why did you throw a knife at her?"

"She threw you into a wall. I was pissed."

"And what exactly did you accomplish?" he demanded.

"It couldn't have been completely painless getting stabbed in the chest," I said with a shrug. "Plus, as far as I knew, she was just a psycho woman coming through the same door Henry came."

"But she's not. She's a demon, Alice. And even if she was human and your knife had killed her, you would've had to live with that for the rest of your life."

"So?" I could've sworn I heard his voice tremble when he answered me.

"Ali, once you're over that line, there's no going back," he took a deep breath. "You have no idea what that kind of guilt does to you."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and lowered my voice. "Don't assume things about me."

Nobody answered me this time, but Dean started speeding even more than usual.

* * *

><p>About an hour later, we slowed to a stop at some comic store. It was pretty hard to believe that the "Men of Letters" or whatever they were had decided that they wanted to hole up at a <em>comic shop<em>. Sure, it was inconspicuous, but these assholes had egos the size of houses, from what I'd seen from Henry.

Dean had been seriously quiet since our little argument in the car, but he wasn't avoiding my gaze as much as I had expected.

"How about you tell us what this "Men of Letters" business is or you're on your own?" Dean demanded after a quiet moment.

"It's none of your concern," Henry replied simply, as if saying that would make all of our questions disappear.

"Why?" I pushed down my shyness and stepped forward. "Is it because they're hunters? Because I'm a girl? What do you have against us?"

Henry held his hands out at his sides, "I have nothing against you, Alice. As for them, aside from the unthinking, unwashed, shoot-first-don't-bother-to-ask-questions-later aspect of their lives, I have no qualms with them."

Sam actually looked offended. Not just enough to warrant a bitchface, but he looked genuinely angry, "You know what? We're also John's children."

I swear, Henry actually looked forlorn when he answered. I felt bad for the poor guy. He'd come here running from a demon more powerful than any demon my father had ever seen On top of that, he'd been trying to see his son, and had come to learn that his boy was dead in this time. That had to be a lot to swallow.

Dean made some _Star Wars _reference that left Henry completely clueless, and the four of us headed into the shop to look for clues. There was a pretty girl behind the counter wearing a t-shirt that said "The devil made me do it" and a black leather jacket. Paired with her heavy eye makeup and piercings, she reminded me a lot of Tricia.

Sam let Henry borrow his "walkie talkie", and the guy started talking to it, asking for a Delta. Dean made some sarcastic comment about it while I stifled a laugh, but I was honestly amazed at how much technology had progressed since 1958. Henry made a comment about how we could never fit a computer in a room this small, and I realized how different our generations were. Suddenly, I could forgive his sexist comments and scoldings for "not acting like a lady". We were just from different times.

* * *

><p>We had wound up back in the car, going to visit his buddies' graves. I decided to do something nice for the old guy.<p>

"Can I borrow your photograph for a little while?" I asked timidly. Henry gave me a look that vaguely resembled that which an eleven-year-old going grey would give the mirror, but he handed over the picture with a warning to give it back or he'd shoot me.

When we made it to the cemetery, it was really late and I was not the happiest of campers. Sam and Dean didn't make me help them dig up the grave, but I did have to sit at the edge of the hole with the lantern. It took them almost two hours to hit the damn coffin, but at least I got some work done.

* * *

><p>I went to bed at the motel way later than I had hoped to. Every time I tried to sleep in the car, Henry would start clearing his throat until I got up. Remember how I said that I could forgive him for everything he does? I take that back. I can't forgive anything after being awake for twenty seven hours.<p>

* * *

><p>When I woke up, Henry was gone. The photograph he'd lent me of his son was too, a short note shoved in its place.<p>

I hit Dean with a pillow, "Wake up, lazy ass!"

That's never the best way to wake someone up, but I didn't get shot, so I guess it went well. When I told him that Henry was missing, he was less than pleased.

"The note said he was going to 'fix everything'."

He scowled, "Yeah, or screw it all up."

Sam went out to get coffee and Dean went to check the trunk, so I spent a minute with my sketchbook. We ended up discovering that he stole an angel feather, which could only mean that he intended to magic his way back to the 50's and be there for my dear old grandad. I had a feeling that even if the spell worked, he wouldn't make it back.

Twenty minutes later, it was back in the car for me and Sam, but this time I got the back seat to myself. Sam, unlike Dean, played music that I liked, and he kept it nice and quiet. I caught an hour or two of sleep while we drove down to some guy named Larry's house.

* * *

><p>Larry turned out to be an insanely old, blind man. He told us all about Abbadon and the "Men of Letters, and he was very sweet, but something about the whole situation made me very uneasy.<p>

"How do we stop Abbadon?" I finally asked.

"You don't, my dear," he answered, writing something down on a notepad and handing it to me. "Neither of you do. If you know where the key is, take it to these coordinates. Throw it in. Shut the door forever, and walk away."

"Why?" Sam demanded. If there was one thing I'd learned about Sam and Dean, it was that they hated leaving anything unfinished. The idea of leaving Abbadon alive, or of closing the door of wherever the key unlocked, stung him like nothing else.

Larry leaned in and lowered his voice. God, he could be so freaking intense, "Because it's the safest place on Earth, warded against any evil ever created. It's impervious to any entry, except for the key."

What he was saying didn't really make sense. If it was the safest place on Earth, wouldn't we want to use it? And if there really was so much information there and we locked it up forever, all that knowledge would be lost forever. How could we live with destroying something that could benefit so many people forever?

Larry chuckled, and I realized that I'd accidentally said all of that aloud. He turned to Sam briefly, "Your niece is a very bright young lady, isn't she? Bright, but naïve. Yes, my dear, it will be a great loss to humanity, but if Abbadon gets her hands on what is in that place, it could mean the end of life as we know it. If this is the price we must pay to protect humanity, then we must make that sacrifice."

There was an awkward silence, "You do have the key, don't you?"

Sam shot a glance my way that meant '_Stay back in case this gets messy' _and stood up, stuttering that Dean had it. Larry's wife stood with him.

"How rude. You two haven't finished your tea," her eyes flashed black, and before Sam could react, she knocked him out.

I rushed to his crumpled form and checked for breathing. Glancing back up at the demon, I saw that she'd knelt down beside me, "I'm guessing you want this back."

The blade of the knife I'd thrown at her buried itself in my arm, drawing a cry of pain from me. The wound it created was superficial at worst, but it still hurt like a bitch. Why the hell was I getting hurt so much lately? It just didn't make sense.

The last thing I remember before she kicked me in the head was the wet sound of blood splattering across the room.

* * *

><p>Sam woke up before I did, and Abbadon let him bind my wound as best he could with our hands tied. I was pretty impressed that the awkwardly wrapped dressing looked as good as it did, and that he'd managed to tuck my knife back into my boot. I guess Abbadon had gotten cocky.<p>

From what I could see, we were at some kind of power plant. Naturally, it only seemed to be lit with one flickery light. Because, you know, it wouldn't really be stressful enough if she wasn't keeping us in a big, dark, creepy warehouse.

Dean showed up after a few minutes of waiting with Henry, whose hands were tied behind his back. I realized what was happening. This was a trade. Our lives for Henry and the key, and Dean would always choose us.

Nothing we could say would make this feel less wrong, so I stayed silent as Sam stammered an apology and we started walking towards Dean. Henry's shoulders brushed against mine as we passed each other, and I heard him whisper.

"It'll be alright."

Dean cut the ropes on our hands, and Sam tried to argue that this was a bad idea. We turned to leave in angry silence, but the door swung shut. Dean whirled around

"We had a deal!" he shouted.

Abbadon only laughed, "Surprise, I lied."

She turned to Henry, plunging her hand into his chest. I saw Sam try to rush forward and heard myself scream. Dean holding us both back, we watched as Henry raised a small gun and fired it into Abbadon's chin. It was like watching a desperate ant nibble at a person's foot; an effort that wouldn't affect the outcome in any way. Henry was done for.

Sam pulled me against his chest and turned so that his back faced Abbadon. It didn't feel like he was trying to comfort me, though. It felt more like he was trying to shield whatever came next, but nothing ever did. I heard Abbadon screaming and sparks started flying down from the ceiling.

Letting go of me, Sam rushed over to Henry, catching him as he fell. It wasn't a pretty sight, blood pouring out of his mouth and gut. I tried to put some pressure on the wound, but he groaned in pain and it was pretty obvious that he wasn't going to make it, no matter what we did. So I reached into my pocket and pulled out the drawing I'd been working on for him.

"I thought you were might like to see you and your son together, so I drew it for you the other day in the car," I said sadly. It was as simple as I could make it, just Henry with his arm around John, but it put a smile on his face for a moment, until the pain got the better of him.

"You really are something, aren't you?" he choked out. Dean crouched down beside me and put a hand on the man's arm. He smiled again, "We did it."

Dean shook his head, "No, _you _did it. That wasn't too bad for a bookworm, Henry."

He laughed a little, but with all the blood, it was a ghastly sight. "I'm sorry I judged you two so harshly about being hunters, and you, Alice, about being a woman. I should've known better."

"About?" Sam urged. He was trying to keep the guy talking, delay what was coming.

"You're also Winchesters. As long as we're alive, there's always hope. I didn't know my son as a man, but having met you two," he took their hands, "I know I would have been proud of him."

And that was it. He was just gone.

* * *

><p><strong>Good evening, my darlings! Well, it's evening here. I'm waiting for pizza to arrive. I apologize that this chapter was so insanely long, but I didn't want to write it in two separate chapters. I'm not going to write Henry's burial scene because it's just too damn sad for me, and that's actually not why I wanted to write a mini arc for <strong>_**As Time Goes By.**_ **So, I'm cutting that part out because I really don't want to make myself cry this close to Christmas.**

**Speaking of Christmas, my friends think that I'm not nearly enough in the Christmas Spirit, so I'll be putting up a (wait for it) Christmas Special! That's right, a fluffy, sappy Christmas-y chapter that will have little to no plot development. That will be going up on December 25, so if you have any ideas or requests, leave a review or message me and I'll do my best to work it into the story!**

**As always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review! Reviews make me happier than I'll be when my pizza finally arrives! (sobbing, pizza man, where are you?)**


	24. Chapter 24-- A Christmas Special

**Wayward Child - A Christmas Special**

**Thank you to Thegirlwhowaited24601 for the idea that formed the basis for this story. Sorry, it wound up deciding to go in a completely different direction than what I'd planned, but I tried. Also, thanks to my mother for helping me come up with the ornament tradition and half of my happier-than's even though she doesn't even read this story. She's a great lady.**

After the three of us got settled in the bunker, it took Dean all of twenty minutes to decide that we _would_ be having Christmas. We had a home now, money wasn't tight, and it didn't look like we'd be having to leave any time soon. He seemed excited. Stressed, but excited all the same. I, on the other hand, was the opposite.

"Dean, I don't see why it's so important that we have Christmas together. Wouldn't it be better to focus on learning our way around the bunker and figuring out what's what?" I argued, following him across the room.

He stared at me, "We live here now. We've got the rest of our lives to do inventory."

Well, yeah, I knew that, but I really wasn't into holidays. Like at all. I had been when I was a little girl, but that stopped when I stopped being put in homes that actually wanted me. Basically after I turned eight and lost that cute charm that people who actually wanted children couldn't resist. After that, feeding you and putting a roof over your head is present enough for some people. At least, it was present enough for the people I was with at Christmas.

"I just don't want to do it," I said with a shrug. Dean's mouth fell open.

"What do you have against Christmas?" he demanded.

I looked to Sam for help, who gave me an I'm-not-getting-involved look. This was my fight, and when I thought about it, it was actually kind of pointless. I didn't have any horrible memories involving Christmas. In fact, some of the best moments from my childhood involved foster parents trying to spoil me with new clothes and toys. So why the hell did this bother me so much?

After telling Dean that I needed to clear my head, I went to the best possible place to do that: the shower. For some reason, feeling the steamy water pound down on my shoulders helps make everything seem clear, as it does for nearly everyone. I didn't want to have Christmas with Dean because I'd never stayed with anyone for long after the holiday was over. They'd always gotten bored with me or decided that I was too much trouble. That's probably why holidays make me sad. They mean that my time with a family is almost over.

I stayed in the shower for awhile longer, deciding whether or not to tell Dean this. Maybe he didn't need to know; it would probably only make him feel guilty. The best option would be to grin and bear it. Besides, living with Sam and Dean had changed the way I saw a lot of things, why couldn't it change this too?

* * *

><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

At first, I didn't get why Ali was against having Christmas. I'd expected her to say that it wasn't necessary, but I hadn't expected her to argue. It had been surprising, to say the least. Then I had understood, and it had been sad.

How do you lessen the guilt of giving up a kid who has nobody else? Answer: You spoil them. Give them anything they ask for, make holidays "special" and little things huge. Give them happy memories. I remembered looking at a picture of four-year-old Alice opening presents with one mom, and then seeing a picture of her with someone else taken only a month later.

She was afraid.

There was nothing I could do to fix that. She'd had it drilled into her head that having fun meant that something bad was coming. So, did the only rational thing: I tried to prove it wrong.

* * *

><p>I said I was going on a food run, which everyone bought easily. It was no secret that I was crazy excited about having a kitchen at my disposal. Plus, the amount of time I was gone could be explained by how far we were from Lebanon.<p>

I went to the mall first and started picking out stuff for Ali. Nothing big, that would scare her, but little things I knew she'd like. Some eyeliner pencil the chick at the store said was good, a scarf, one of those beanies she seemed to like, stuff like that. I got some stuff for Sam too, then it was off to get a tree.

Getting a tree was easier said than done. As much as I wanted to get something enormous, I wouldn't be able to get it home. I couldn't put a tree that big on top of Baby, she might get scratched or sap might drip on her or God knows what could happen. So, I settled for a little four-foot-tall one, which I wrapped in a tarp before tethering it down. Naturally, I stopped for groceries before going back, but that was the first time I've driven the speed limit since I was fourteen years old learning to drive for the first time.

* * *

><p>When I got home, (damn, it feels good to say that) I lugged the tree into the main room and hid it behind a box before Ali could find it. She'd probably be pissed if she found out I was going ahead with this after she said she didn't want to, and frankly, I could understand that. But, I was gonna do it anyway.<p>

Sam knew instantly that I was hiding something, and he figured out what fairly quickly. He was aggravated at first, but he warmed up to the idea pretty quickly when I told him why I was doing it. He even agreed to help me decorate the tree while Ali was asleep on Christmas Eve. Until then, we'd hide it in one of the closets.

* * *

><p>Christmas Eve came really quickly, and, naturally, Ali decided to go to bed early. It was so lucky that Sam actually thought I drugged her.<p>

We brought the tree into the main room and wrapped a string of lights around it, but we didn't put any ornaments on. Once we'd put all the gifts under the tree and one on Ali's night table, Sam and I decided to do a little celebrating ourselves while we braced for Ali's reaction in the morning. If this didn't go perfectly, she was going to be _really _upset.

So, we did what any two brothers do at Christmas time. We drank way too much spiked eggnog and watched hockey until we couldn't see straight anymore. Then we went to bed.

* * *

><p>Sam and I somehow managed to wake up before Ali, and we were sitting at one of the tables with breakfast already made when she came down holding what had been in the box by her bed. While she didn't look thrilled, she didn't look angry either. As she took in the sight of the room, however, her face changed to something akin to fear.<p>

"What is this?" she asked, holding up the ornament.

"Merry Christmas, kid!" I exclaimed, standing up and gesturing to the tree in the corner. She scoffed, and I started backpedaling as quickly as I could. "I know that you've had it drilled into your head that you'll only have one Christmas with anyone, but you're gonna have a lot with us. I'm doing this because I need you to understand that good things can still happen with us."

"Why did you leave an ornament on my nightstand?" she asked. I could tell that she was choosing her words carefully, trying really, really hard not to upset anyone.

Sam answered this time, "We're gonna do something different with you than what you're used to. This year, there are no ornaments on the tree, and, every year, we'll buy a new one. You got the first one this year because, well, it's our first Christmas together as a family."

Ali was silent for a few minutes after that, taking in everything we'd said. Then she looked up at us with slightly misty eyes, "We're a family?"

That threw me for a loop. Sam too, from the looks of him. "Of course we're a family."

She nodded, blinking hard, before jingling the small ornament in her hand. "Well then, wanna put this on the tree?"

Everything started going uphill from there.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello, everyone! That's right, I'm talking to all one hundred of you! Everyone who is following this story, whether you've been with me since Chapter 1 or just joined us yesterday, thank you. This means so very much to me and I honestly can't believe it. Seriously, I've double checked about a thousand times just to make sure I wasn't mistaken.<strong>

**Yes, I procrastinated a little bit on this, but it did give me something to do while I was on the plane all day, so that was good. **

**As always, don't forget to favourite, follow and review. Reviews make me happier than Rudolph by a red porch light! (thanks mom)**


	25. Chapter 25

**Guys, I know that I don't typically attach author's notes at the beginning of a chapter, but I really need to attach some trigger warnings before I get to the chapter. I've done a few not-so-heavy chapters and some fluff and stuff, but now I can't put it off any longer. So, I'm going to pretty much throw you into the deep end and ease out of it instead of the other way around. This is is probably going to be the most intense chapter so far (no fluff).**

**TRIGGER WARNINGS: Bullying, self harm, implications of eating disorders**

**Outside POV**

It had been two months since the Winchesters had moved into the Men of Letters' bunker, and the decision had finally been made to send Alice back to school. Of course, she didn't have much say in this, she was actually completely opposed to the idea, but it was happening nonetheless.

"I can't believe you're making me do this," she grumbled from the shotgun seat. Dean looked over.

"Ali, we've been over this. You've gotta finish high school. That's all I'm forcing you to do. I'm not gonna make you go to college if you don't want to, but you have to at least finish high school."

"Why? I already learned this stuff on my own," she defended.

"Because people aren't very accepting of that method of learning. They wanna see a diploma before they'll start giving you any kind of respect," he paused with a faraway look in his eye. "My daughter is gonna have some respect in this world, whether she likes it or not."

Ali didn't argue anymore from there, but she really wasn't thrilled about going back to school.

* * *

><p>The receptionist at the school was one of those ladies who smiles way too much upon first meeting someone, but you can tell she's a total bitch later on. Sam had filed all the paperwork Friday afternoon, and now all that was left was to figure out her schedule.<p>

"Alright, Ms. Winchester, I think we've got your schedule all squared away, so I'll have someone show you where your first class will be," the receptionist explained. Dean grinned beside her. They had decided that since Ali was still technically a runaway, they would change her name for school. Winchester seemed like the best option, and damn did it feel good to hear his name attached to his daughter.

Alice was walked out by a male teacher who seemed more like an orderly, and Dean was left alone to sign the last of the papers. As she left, he crossed his fingers.

_Please let this work out. _

* * *

><p><strong>Alice's POV<strong>

As I was being led down the crowded hallways to my first class, I remembered something that I hadn't thought in a looong time: I hate school. I don't hate it for the classes or the books, I love those. I hate it for the people. I hate if for the smirks and the hair-pulling and the notes and the stares and the jokes at my expense. I hate it for the way a teacher decides that I should be a suspect in anything that happens even though I rarely even speak. I hate it for the resource officers stopping me in the hall for a "random" breathalyzer test. But most of all, I hate the questions.

"Where'd you get that scar?"

"Why don't you ever talk?"

"What's that tattoo mean?"

"Have you ever done drugs?"

"Are you an emo?"

It feels like a tidal wave of questions being hurled my way, and it's too much. I start to panic, and then it's all over.

"Ms. Winchester, are you alright?"

I looked up to see the man escorting me, Mr. Martinez, staring at me with a concerned look. There were a lot of people staring. I realized that I'd started hyperventilating and I tried to calm down. Deep, slow breaths. It seemed to work, and I hesitantly nodded before starting to move again.

* * *

><p>When Dean picked me up at the end of the day, I was wearing the spare clothes I'd brought while my original outfit mildewed in my bag. Someone had "accidentally" knocked into me with their tray, spilling food and drinks all down my front. I knew it was on purpose. That's why I brought the extra clothes.<p>

"So, how was your first day?" he asked as we pulled away from the school. I scoffed.

"Shitty. Are you sure I have to go to public school? I can do online classes if you want."

"Alice," he warned. "Come on, it couldn't have been _that _bad. Did you meet anyone?"

"Yeah. My math teacher, who told me I wasn't smart enough for sophomore math."

He was silent for a few minutes, and I was worried I'd upset him. But when he spoke again his voice was gentle, "Look, I know how much it sucks to be the new kid. You just have to show them who you are, give them a chance to warm up to you. It'll get better."

When we got home, Sam spent the night helping me with my math homework. Then I went to bed, got up, and drove with Dean to school.

* * *

><p>"Hey, retard, how'd the math homework go?"<p>

"Ugh, your hair is so fucking ugly. What'd you roll out of bed like that?"

"Your eyebrows are crooked."

"Freak."

"Skank."

I know, all of these insults were stupid and unoriginal, and they shouldn't have bothered me at all, but they were just enough to take what little self-esteem I had and flush it down the pipes. I was now reduced to scurrying down the hall with my hood up and my earbuds in, praying nobody would notice me.

I didn't talk in the car this time, and Dean didn't push. When we got home, I made a beeline for the bathroom and locked the door. Everything was different now. Every little imperfection, every freckle, every asymmetric detail seemed so massive. And, for the first time in years, I looked fat.

How was I supposed to go to school like this?

* * *

><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

"Alice, dinner's ready! Come eat!"

No response again. Great.

Alice had been going to school for almost three months now, and I was starting to wonder if I'd made the right call. She wasn't smiling as much anymore, wasn't speaking, wasn't eating, she'd stopped wearing those dresses and blouses she liked so much, replacing them with oversized hoodies, baggy jeans and long skirts. I'd even caught her counting calories in a notebook today, and there were less than eight hundred written down for the last three days. We were gonna have to talk about that.

I knocked on her bedroom door with the intention of dragging her to the table by force if I had to, but when I opened the door, I was met with an empty room. My next stop was the bathroom next door; she might be waxing her face or whatever it is girls do, but there was no response when I called her and the door was unlocked. So, I let myself in.

The first thing that hit me was the smell: an almost nasty mixture of blood, sweat, tears, and alcohol. That was something I'd associate more with myself than with Alice, but here it was in her bathroom. I cringed, opening the door the rest of the way and poking my head in. The sink was streaked with blood, a small knife lying abandoned in the basin.

Even though I was telling myself that it couldn't be Ali's blood, my stomach churned at the sight and I froze. What if this _was_ my kid's blood? What if something got into the bunker? What if she did this to herself? What if she was dead? What if she was bleeding out?

A small hiss from a few feet away pulled me from my thoughts. Ali was here. I swept back the shower curtain and found her laying curled up in the bathtub, her wrist cut deep. Blood was pouring from the wound while Alice sat staring at it. She wasn't even putting pressure on it, which didn't make sense until I noticed the vacant look in her eyes.

I was shaking at this point. She couldn't die again. I wouldn't survive it this time if she did. Hell, I'd barely survived it last time. I had planned to kill myself. Ali had been what brought me back from that edge.

The door swung open again and Sam rushed in. Once he'd taken in the sight in front of him, he shoved me out of the way and wrapped a towel around Ali's wrist, holding it tightly between his hands.

"Dean, get out of here," he ordered. When I didn't move, he raised slapped me with a bloody hand and repeated himself. "I said get out!"

I didn't argue. Why would I? I mean, I felt like I was gonna be sick and there wasn't much I could do to help like this. I just hoped she didn't fight us.

* * *

><p><strong>Sam's POV<strong>

I got Ali stitched up fairly easily, and she didn't fight me at all. She didn't speak or blink or move or anything, it was almost creepy. It was fairly obvious that her wounds were self-inflicted which surprised me considering how much she'd gone through without hurting herself like that. Or had she?

I realized that we really didn't know all that much about her. Alice had always been guarded, putting up a carefully constructed wall around any subject that might make one of us uncomfortable. My heart sank as I realized that she still didn't trust us.

"Alice," I called as gently as I could, taking her hand. "Honey, tell me why you did this to yourself."

No reply.

"Ali, you can't hurt yourself like that. You could've killed yourself."

"Wouldn't have been the first time I've tried," she whispered. While I was thrilled to get any answer at all, that wasn't anywhere near what I'd been hoping for. It was actually about as far as it possibly could've been from anything I wanted to hear, but it was an honest answer.

"What do you mean?" I tried to coax another answer out of her, but she was done talking for the night. Eventually, she fell asleep and I carried her to bed. Before I shut the door, I took the dagger from under her pillow and any other blades and weapons I could find. I knew she'd be pissed about it, but I'd rather have her pissed than dead.

"Did you get her to tell you what happened?" Dean asked as soon as I closed her bedroom door. I shook my head.

"It looks like she did it herself," I explained quietly, waiting for Dean to flip out. He did.

"Well she didn't!" he shouted. "She's not some bratty chick looking for attention. Hell, Sam, she was hiding from something!"

"Probably from us," I was trying to be calm Dean, cutting isn't a ploy for attention, not always. It's usually a screwed up coping mechanism."

Dean looked like he was gonna be sick, "Coping with what?"

I shrugged, "Probably with a lot of things. She had a rough childhood. Hell, it may have been even worse than ours."

He made a face, and I knew that he was thinking that nobody had a childhood worse than ours. But we'd always had a bed to sleep in and each other to trust. Neither of us had been "bad touched" or anything, and Dad had kept us relatively safe from damn near everything. Alice hadn't had that.

I remembered how she'd looked talking about the Andersons, the raw pain and disgust in her eyes. And the last thing she said about it: "His days of attacking girls are over." It had bothered me since she'd said it.

Until now, I had avoided telling Dean what she'd said about the Anderson family. Now I didn't see any other options. He had to know what'd happened to her or he couldn't help her. It was that simple.


	26. Chapter 26

****Trigger warnings: Rape, abuse****

* * *

><p>"I'm gonna kill somebody. I am gonna throw up and then I'm going to kill somebody."<p>

"Dean, try to be reasonable."

"You try 'being reasonable' when you find out somebody raped your kid!" Okay, fair.

"She said he couldn't hurt anyone else. He was probably put away when she left."

"Then I'm gonna find that prison and stab his fucking brains out."

"Dean!" I was not interested in hearing this right now. "I only told you because we need to figure out how to help her. Clearly, leaving it alone wasn't helping anything."

"Damn straight it wasn't!" he agreed. "Why the hell did you think it was a good idea to keep this to yourself in the first place?"

He never was good at wrapping his head around this kind of stuff, "Dean, it wasn't exactly my place to tell you. I think she only told me in the first place because you interrogated her about her nightmares."

"You should've said something to me!"

This was escalating too fast, "Stop for a minute and calm down before you wake up your daughter."

"Too late," a small voice muttered behind us. We turned to see Ali tugging at the bandage on her arm. Reaching over, I gently swatted her hand away.

"You guys are loud," she remarked, glancing nervously between us. "Well, out with it. What are you talking about?"

Dean crossed the room in a single step, pulling her into a tight hug. He didn't let go for a long time, but when they pulled away, his voice was barely a whisper. "I don't ever want to find you like that again. Not ever."

Ali didn't respond. I hadn't expected a real answer from her, but the complete silence was a surprise. She always had something to ease the tension, whether it was an actual answer or not.

"You have questions," she said. It was more of a statement than a question. Just like that afternoon in the junkyard.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, where can I find the son of a bitch who ra- uh- hurt you?"

"You mean the man who raped me?" she snapped. "It's a word, not a hammer. It won't break me."

"Okay," Dean stuck his hands up by his face for a second. "Where is the son of a bitch who raped you?"

Apparently, Alice hadn't thought he'd ask her a second time because she cringed a little. It was silent for a moment while she figured out how to formulate her answer.

"He's at a cemetery in Iowa. I don't know which one exactly," she paused, taking a deep breath. Whatever she had to say next wasn't good. "I killed him."

* * *

><p><strong>Alice's POV<strong>

Nobody moved after I admitted to what I'd done to Mark. It was hard to read their faces, not because they looked blank, but because there were too many emotions dancing across them. Horror, sadness, anger, pity, even guilt. I couldn't figure out what they were directed at.

I was starting to shrink away when Sam finally said something.

"I can understand why you did it," he said, giving me that horrible puppy-eyed look. "You had to protect yourself. I'm sorry that that meant killing someone."

Why did people always assume my motives were to protect myself? There were only about five other people who knew, excluding the other people in the house and the police who'd investigated it. Almost all of them thought that Mark had been attacking me.

"I wasn't defending myself when I shot him," I explained. They both blinked in confusion. "I was pissed because he went after the other girls."

"What?" Dean actually sounded like he was about to be physically ill.

"I shut up and let him do his thing and he left the younger kids alone. Those were his terms, not mine," the words rushed out of me before I could stop them. It was getting hard to breathe. "All he had to do was wait an hour and I would've been there. He never had to hurt Lizzi. She was too small, he could've killed here. He almost did kill her."

I really didn't want to cry, but it was happening. My limbs were going numb and it felt like my airway was closing up. Both of them were next to me within seconds. Sam ran off to get a bucket and a rag, which was good because I had a feeling that that was where this was headed.

Dean's hands were on my shoulders, but his voice sounded far away, "Alice, take a deep breath. You've got to breath, okay?"

Suddenly, I wasn't there anymore. I was back in that damned house again. The gun was back in my hands, the smooth metal cool on my fingers. The shot was resonating through my body. It was so loud, like it was gonna deafen me. Lizzi was crying, naked on the bed. Blood was spraying back onto my face, the thump of the body hitting the floor. Sitting down in front of the camera, blood still on my face, gun still in my hands.

"_This is a confession of guilt…" _

Then it was all gone. Everything faded to white, a warm tingling sensation bathing over me. A gravelly voice called my name.

"Alice, focus on my voice," it ordered. "Come back to us."

I let the voice anchor me. It wrapped me in itself, pulling me out of the light, back into reality.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello there, my lovelies. I know that this was another very dark, very heavy chapter. There's probably gonna be a couple more of those before my next fluff chapter. But, I've been planning this backstory reveal since chapter 5 (and I don't plan) and I'm really glad that it's now out of my head and out here in the interwebs.<strong>

**I'm very sorry that it was so short this time. Next chapter will be longer. I promise.**

**On that note, don't forget to favourite, follow and review. Reviews make me happier than a kid on a snow day!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Castiel's POV**

I have watched over the Winchester girl since before her birth. I have seen her suffering, her fear, her story. So, when she collapsed in a flashback, I did not hesitate to come when her father called me.

There have been many times when I wished I could aid her and could not, but my orders were clear. Alice Rosalynne Winchester was to be kept alive. I was not to intervene unless it was necessary to save her life. That is the only reason why I allowed her to come to harm as many times as she did. If it had been my decision, she would've never known pain.

After I pulled her from her memories, I stepped away for a moment to calm myself. It was a painful memory for me as well. The horror on her face as she pulled the trigger, the aftermath. It was enough to breach even a creature as emotionless as an angel.

What had struck me was the selflessness she showed. Alice didn't allow herself to show the pain she was in until long after she'd pulled trigger. She took care of the younger girl, Elizabeth, as best as she was capable. Then she turned her attention to protecting the other children from suspicion in the only way she knew how. She turned on a camcorder and sat down in front of it, blood still splattered across her face.

"My name is Alice Rosalynne Holmes," she breathed. "This a confession of guilt for the shooting of Markus Jonathon Anderson."

After she'd finished, she placed the camera next to the body with a note that read "Watch me". I followed as she set a timer and asked the girls to call 911 when it went off. It was only five minutes, but it was enough time for her to steal her bike and get away.

That first night was the worst for her. After the adrenaline wore off, she fell to her knees and sobbed from the guilt and fear washing over her. I know she contemplated suicide that first night. I also know that the reason she hid the gun under a mile marker on I-80 was that she wanted to blow her brains out with it and someone else would have to clean it up if she did. No, she preferred a cleaner death.

The only time I ever intervened in her life before she met Dean was two weeks after she left West Des Moines. We were in an alley, where nobody could see her. I suppose the guilt was just too much for her right then, and in a moment of weakness, she swallowed a handful of acetaminophen tablets. I had hoped they wouldn't be enough to kill her, but her organs started to fail and I didn't have a choice but to save her. I'll never forget the despair she felt when she woke up, the way she wailed and cursed God for doing this to her.

Eventually, though, she started to heal. She found her friend, Tricia, and made it to Chicago. They joined a camp together, about a dozen or so children living under a bridge. It was nothing special, but it made such a fantastic difference in Alice's life that I wondered if this was truly a gift from my father. She definitely deserved it.

Of course, things still weren't easy for her, but they were better than before. Then again, almost anything would've been better than before.

* * *

><p><strong>Dean's POV<strong>

It was pretty weird to see Cas step out after he helped Ali out of her flashback. He was normally so calm. To see him get so shaken up over her memories was definitely concerning. Once I was sure that Ali was okay with Sam I went after him.

He was standing in the kitchen, staring blankly at the wall. When he heard me come in, he lowered his head, "I'm sorry."

I blinked in confusion. That was not what I was expecting to hear, "What?"

"That is what humans say when they feel remorseful, right?"

"Well, yeah," I agreed. "But what the hell do you have to be sorry for?"

Cas turned away from the wall, and for a second I could've sworn that his eyes were misty. But, they weren't, and he seemed okay. I waited while he took a breath to collect his thoughts, gesturing towards the other room.

"I could've stopped all of that."

"Come again?" I didn't ask it out of anger or malice, I'd never do that to Cas, but I was pretty sure that I'd heard wrong. His shoulders slumped.

"I told Sam this, and now I'm telling you. I have watched over Alice since before her birth. That means that I bore witness to everything that scarred her, and I let it happen," he looked like he was being torn up inside. It took every ounce of strength in me to not walk over and hug him tight as I could manage. I'm glad I didn't, though. That would've been a serious chick-flick moment.

"Look, man," I started, settling for a verbal reassurance. That wasn't too bad, right? "I'm sure you had your reasons for letting that stuff happen. Besides, Ali's a Winchester. She's strong, and I know she'll get through this."

The next time Cas looked up at me, his eyes were red and moist. It looked almost like he was human, "I looked inside her mind, Dean. I had to if I was going to pull her from her memory."

"And?"

He swallowed, "It's just like that time all those years ago. Nothing has changed. She still wishes for death, longs for it to some extent, and that is my fault."

* * *

><p>It felt like my soul was dropping through the floor. Cas did realized that he was saying Ali was suicidal, right?<p>

It wasn't my first time dealing with news like that. Sammy had gone through a phase like that when he was just getting into high school, maybe thirteen or so. I think I dealt with it fairly well when it happened. His guidance counselor called me down, and I talked to the kid when we got home. That was it.

This was something else. I couldn't relate to the reason why Ali was like this. With Sam, I'd known right away what was causing it and, more or less, how to handle it. This was a different kind of trauma. This was a girl getting raped and never having gotten the chance to deal with it. I didn't even know the first step of helping her.

I was gonna need to get help on this one. Like, professional help.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello my lovelies! I intended to post this like a week ago, but I got frustrated writing Castiel's perspective and took an insanely long break. Personally, I'm not all that pleased with this chapter. I don't like writing from Cas's point of view at all, I've decided. However, I am going to try and make him more present in their lives throughout the plot.<strong>

**I know, Cas is a bit OOC in this. It was just driving me crazy not having him really have any emotions, so I messed with him a bit. He's going to be very human in this story. **

**Anyway, don't forget to favourite, follow and review! Reviews make me happier than the Eleventh Doctor with a new fez!**


	28. A Wayward Moment

Dean marched up to the front desk of Ali's school. He was so angry, he could actually feel himself shaking. The same receptionist who'd gotten them set up when they'd first enrolled her greeted him with a warm smile.

"Well hello Mr. Winchester. Can I help you with something?" she asked kindly.

"Yeah," he growled. "I need to talk to somebody about my daughter for a minute."

Her smile faded quickly as she started to pick up on how serious the damn situation was, "I'll have Assistant Principal Radley come down if you wouldn't mind waiting a few minutes."

"I'll wait all day if I have to."

* * *

><p>The assistant principal seemed like a nice guy getting ready to retire. Dean almost felt bad for the verbal ass-kicking he was ready to give him, but then he remembered finding his daughter soaked in her own blood and whatever guilt he'd been feeling dissipated.<p>

Radley settled into his seat, gesturing for Dean to do the same, "So, Mr. Winchester, I noticed your daughter isn't in school today."

"Yeah, you noticed that but you didn't notice that she was getting bullied to the point of a near mental breakdown?" Dean snapped. The little bit of respect he'd had for this principal was gone. The older man nodded.

"A bit of harsh treatment is perfectly normal for a new student at any school. Intervening could make that new student an outcast."

"You think I don't know that?" he exclaimed. "I was the new kid six times a year from kindergarten until I dropped out my senior year. This is insane, though."

"Mr. Winchester, your daughter has been making excellent grades so far in every class excluding math, so clearly the other students' harshness towards her isn't affecting her academics. That being the case, there really isn't anything that warrants an investigation into this," Radley explained.

Dean stood up, knocking over his chair, and slammed his hands on the desk, "I found her alone, bleeding so bad I thought she might not survive it because of what those kids are doing to her. There's more to life than academics, you jackass!"

"Please, sir. Calm down."

"No!" he shouted, before quieting himself. "You preached a zero-tolerance policy when I first enrolled her and what you're showing is fucking tolerance. So I can tell you now, my daughter won't be returning."

With that, Dean turned around and stormed out, slamming the office door behind him. He'd send Sam to get the withdrawal papers in about a week.

He knew now that he'd made a huge mistake, and he was going to fix it.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello my lovelies! So this is actually a stray scene from when I was planning the next chapter (I know, it's taking me waaaaayyy too long to write this). I actually quite liked the way it turned out, even though it was dialogue based, but it didn't fit in with what I was doing. Next chapter is gonna be a bit of a filler while I start (a) figuring out a new plot and (b) setting up said new plot. Honestly, guys, while I really love the one I was on, it's reeeeaaallllyyy dark. And that's just the stuff that makes it on here. For every page I publish, I write at least six or seven different versions. Most of which, I use as bread crumbs for other plot points and stuff, but some of them are even heavier than the stuff I put out if you can believe it. Anyway, all that stuff is starting to drag me down a little, which is why I've been having so much trouble with the upcoming chapter. <strong>

**So, I think I'll start bridging and do a couple happy, fluffy chapters before starting to get back into plot if that's alright. Let me know if you have any suggestions!**

**As always, don't forget to favourite, follow, and review! Reviews make me happier than a goat doing- I don't know… goat things. (I'll have a better happier-than as well next time. Promise!)**


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